If I Burn
by a-rock-n-roll-suicide
Summary: Lisbeth Salander travels to Elstree to stop Alex DeLarge's reign of terror. Formerly A Clockwork Dragon Tattoo. Warning: violence and rape.
1. Preface

I just thought this would be a good idea. It was conceived out of some random thought: "Hey, what would happen if Lisbeth Salander from the _Millennium _trilogy crossed paths with Alex from _A Clockwork Orange_?" Of course, given how Alex frequently treats women and how Lisbeth hates sadistic rapist pigs, which is what Alex is, I don't think they'd be the best of friends.

Of course I do not own Lisbeth Salander; the late, great Stieg Larsson does. If I owned her and the series the series would be about ten books long, like how Larsson planned it. Alas, I do not. RIP Stieg Larsson.

Also I do not own Alex. He belongs to the late Anthony Burgess and Stanley Kubrick.

**Edit: I made changes to the second chapter and from now on there will be no first person POVs. **

**Prologue**

She sat at her PowerBook, staring intently at the screen. Apparently in a town called Elstree, Yorkshire, England, the crime rate increased over the past four or five years. A lot of the crime was against women. It was not uncommon to find a woman naked and sobbing and bleeding in an alley after a recent sexual assault. She frowned. So much misogyny in Elstree, even more than in Sweden. She wondered what caused the rise of violence. It had always been around, and it will always be present. But it seemed to have increased very dramatically over the past few years. She needed to get to the source of its sudden and rapid rate. She looked up the crime rate of Elstree online and the first article was about-as luck would have it-the source of the increase. The article wasn't all that great though. It didn't list his real name, instead addressing him as the infamous Cat Lady Killer.

_Cat Lady Killer, _she thought. _Interesting._

She did a search for Cat Lady Killer. The results were astounding.

With special thanks to _demonbarber14 _for reviewing my story. By the way, if you're reading this, no, I did not intend to reference your story. To be honest, I just read it today. Coincidence, I suppose. And as for _Love is Pain, _I will update it, but probably not until _If I Burn _is completed. And even then, I will improve it and revamp it by rewriting it altogether.

Special announcement: I am looking for a beta reader. Someone honest, but not scathing and harsh. I shall put this on my next chapter-the actual chapter two of this story-as well so those already familiar with this story don't have to come back here to see this.


	2. Alex

**A/N: **I have decided to redo this chapter because I dislike Alex's POV and I want it all to be third person omniscient. Also note: This scene does have a rape scene with an unnamed female, but I promise you, she does play a role in this fic and this is necessary.

It was cold, very cold. Alex DeLarge could barely stand the cold, but as he never had a car he endured the walk. It wasn't that far from his destination anyway. His destination, of course, being the Korova Milk Bar, his usual hangout for after work was done. He discovered the place as a young teen of about thirteen after hearing recommendations from his classmates at school when he still went. That was six years ago. Back then the Korova was fairly new, almost a month old. Now he's eighteen, and though he still frequented the place, he no longer drank the drug-laced milk. It sharpened you up and purged you of your inhibitions about violence. Basically, it made you violent and not feel guilty about doing bad things to people. Alex never drank much; he never had any misgivings about violence anyway. But he remembered a former member of his gang who had to drink at least two glasses of moloko vellocet because he was usually a peaceful and thoughtful person by nature; his name was Peter "Pete" Tarn. He only joined because Alex and his other friends-George "Georgie" Marcus and Warren "Dim" Clarke-threatened him in the Melodia music shoppe. Of the three, Alex was closest to Pete because he didn't like Dim because of his stupidity and was only allowed in the gang due to his strength and his competence during a fight and Alex was rather suspicious of Georgie's ambitious nature. And three years ago, his suspicions were confirmed when Georgie single-handedly, with help from dim Dim and reluctant Pete, landed Alex in a jail cell for two years out of the fourteen he was originally sentenced. He remembered those years bitterly. He did not want to dwell. Especially in the Ludovico period.

Alex and Pete still talked every once in a while, but with Pete's new life with his wife Georgina, it hasn't been often. Alex considered settling down himself, but he wasn't the marrying kind.

What Alex did for entertainment after work let out was scour the milkbar for a girl, willing or not, to take home. Most of the time they came without the need of brute force, having been awed at his notoriety and fame. However, he often had to drag some unwilling participants out and to his apartment so he could have his way with them. They always ended up bloody and bruised and traumatised. It amused him greatly. The best part was that thanks to his immunity, he could get away with virtually any crime with not even a slap on the wrist. The only things he couldn't get away with were treason and he wasn't allowed to go near the government people's daughters, especially the Minister of the Interior's. They were sacred treasures only to be touched by the purest, worthiest man (or woman, depending on how they swing) ever, someone who was a fine, upstanding citizen, a God-fearing boy (or girl).

Alex, of course, was none of that. He was not good and never will be, no matter how many times he lied to everyone around him that he's reformed. He certainly wasn't pure or worthy. And God was a concept that was inconceivable to him. One he did not fear.

Anyway, on this night he hoped he didn't have to drag a girl out this time. He wasn't in the mood. He had needs that had to be met and then to get to bed for another day at work. He reached his destination at long last and opened the door to his familiar hangout.

The place was still the same it had always been. He figured it'd never change. Most places change over time, revamp, but not the Korova. It had looked exactly the same for years.

He ordered a plain moloko because the drug-laced moloko lost its appeal for him. For most people, the plain moloko cost more and so often they just settled for the least drugged moloko, with the exception of richer lewdies who occupied this place every so often-admittedly, this wasn't often. Rich people were often snobbier and thought places like this were beneath them and only came here rarely-and Alex himself, who got everything virtually free. Not because of his status, though that did help, but because his being a frequent and loyal customer. Not once did he step foot in another milk bar.

Grabbing his moloko, he searched the bar and saw a young and pretty girl sitting all by her lonesome. He smirked to himself sinisterly. _Welly welly welly well, _he thought. _What have we here? A molodoy devotchka, sitting all on her oddy-knocky._

__He approached her and began in a gentleman's voice, yet still using his nadsat slang: "Hi hi hi there, lovely."

The girl looked up at him and widened her eyes at who she was looking at. "Uh…hello," she said slowly.

He grinned at her. "You're all on your oddy-knocky," Alex observed. "May I ask you why that is?"

"My friends were supposed to meet me here," she explained. "But they canceled at the last minute, saying they have dates. I'm sadly single."

The girl had an American accent and blonde hair the colour of wheat and eyes that colour of mocha. She was very pretty. Not extraordinarily beautiful, but pretty nonetheless. Her breasts weren't too small or too big, just the right size, like Alex liked them. Though, he could concede that breasts were breasts, no matter the size.

"What an atrocity, your so-called droogies ditching you for lovers," Alex said sympathetically. "What an even bigger tragedy, you, a lovely devotchka, being all on your oddy-knocky. I'm surprised, I must admit. You're far too pretty to be without a lover."

The girl blushed and smiled bashfully. "You flatter me. I know you, you know. The Cat Lady Killer, right? And then you underwent the Ludovico Treatment?"

Alex grinned wider. "Yes, that's me. So where are you from, lovely? You sound American."

She starts talking. She was born and raised in Colorado but moved two weeks ago because her mother had family in England. Her mother for some reason chose this town and had heard from some new friends of hers about Alex and rumours spread about him (like that he was a rapist-true, but he was never convicted of rape.) and thus, her mother had urged her daughter (whose name Alex never remembered nor cared. She was just another fuck.) to stay away from him.

Alex smirked and rubbed her leg. "Who says your em needs to know everything?" he asked. She agreed, tired of letting her mother ruin her fun.

He kept her company for forty-five minutes and then asked her to come home with him. Although hesitant at first, she agreed.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, making sure any gang members lurking knew who she belonged to. No one could fuck with Alex now. They know he'll fuck up their life if he mentions that they did him wrong to the right people. He grinned to himself. His new status was noting but beneficial to him.

"Where is your domy, darling?" he asked, as if he had any intention at all of taking her home.

She told him where it was, a fancy apartment. He came to the conclusion that she was rich.

"So you're the bugatty type, eh?" Alex asked, amused.

"Yes, I am. But I wish I wasn't. My friends aren't really my friends-I know they secretly hate me because I'm rich and they're jealous and think me the snotty type. I can assure you-I'm not."

"Of course they aren't your droogies, not real ones anyway. They ditched you. But no, you don't seem stuck up to me."

They walked and talked and all was good until the girl noticed he passed right by her apartment.

"Um, Alex? We passed my apartment while we were talking," she pointed out. Alex ignored her.

"Alex, I have to go home. My mom will worry over me." Still he refused to turn back, starting to head toward his apartment.

"Alex, just where the hell are you taking me?" she demanded. He smirked at her.

"Never you mind, little sister. Just trust Uncle Alex. Everything will be all right," he said calmly, but his voice took on a sinister edge at the end.

He led her inside the apartment complex building. She saw the vulgar graffiti on the walls-which was worse now than it had been when Alex was in his prime a a hooligan.

She started to get nervous, to panic. She struggled against him.

"Alex, I have to get home! Now!" He did not release her. In fact, his hold on her tightened.

"Where are you taking me? Alex! Please!" Her voice took on a hysteric tone as she realized what a grave mistake she had made in trusting a notorious hoodlum, no matter how "reformed" he was.

He turned to look at her, giving her a menacing look. "You would do well to cut that out, sister," he hissed. "I will not disturb the other lewdies in this municipal building and I will not allow the same behaviour out of you. Now, shall you be dobby devotchka and come along with Uncle Alex, or shall I use brute force?"

She cowered but agreed to hush up. When she was in his apartment bedroom, however, she started up again, struggling and screaming.

"It does no use, love," he said calmly. "I locked the doors so you can't escape me. My dada and mum have taken their spatchka pills-you couldn't wake them up if you were a hurricane. No matter what, I will have my way with you."

He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to the bed wit her yelling in pain. He tore at her clothes and groped at her body as soon as he had her naked and exposed to his lustful gaze. Alex then tied her hands to the bed and her legs apart. He undressed and then went to his collection of vinyl and picked out his favourite: a Beethoven record.

"Hope you like Ludwig van, darling," he said and then putting it on. He went to his bed and crawled on top of her. The girl didn't bother screaming, but she had a scared look in her eyes. She knew what was coming.

He made himself hard and started to enter her, but realized how dry she was. He pulled out and inserted a finger, making her good and wet. When Alex was satisfied, he re-entered and was pleased to be able to enter her.

She whimpered and made moaning noises of pain as he thrust inside her hard and mercilessly.

"I bet you actually enjoy this, don't you, you little slut," he sneered, licking her cheek. "You're so wet. Why did you protest so much? I know you wanted this. Just wanted to look so innocent, didn't you?"

For eight hours he raped her to Beethoven. The girl knew that if she survived she would never be able to stand Beethoven again. Another thing she knew: her mother was so very right.

It was five in the morning. Every part of her hurt and ached. Especially a certain area. Alex had just decided he was finally finished with her and he lay naked next to her, panting and sweaty. He looked at her and grinned.

Black and blue bruises coloured her body, especially between her legs. Blood dried on her inner thighs. She had been a virgin. He liked deflowering virgins. It gave Alex a sense of pride to know he had been her first.

He untied her and let her lay on his bed in a fetal position crying for twenty minutes. At one point, after about ten minutes of this, he asked if she would like some breakfast. It's the least he could do. She declined. Finally, after twenty minutes, he threw her ripped up clothes at her and told her to change as best she could.

"My em and pee will be up in an hour for breakfast and they don't need to viddy you here, lest they suspect me of being up to my old antics."

She nodded and sat up, wincing. She grimaced as she put on her clothes and cried out in pain putting on her underwear over her sore area. When she was dressed she walked-more like _l__imped_-out of his room and out of the apartment, wincing and weeping and cursing softly.

Lisbeth Salander stared at her PowerBook screen intently. The searches Google provided were endless. All them had to do with the 'Cat Lady Killer.' According to one source he resided in some sort of municipal flatblock in Elstree and occasionally went for drinks at a place called the 'Korova Night Bar.' She mused over the name. Korova was the Russian word for milk. What did they sell, milk? The CLK went by the name of Alex DeLarge, but he was born Alexander Burgess. He had a history of crimes other than murder of an elderly cat woman and thievery; he was an infamous rapist and used to have a gang.

I wonder where the rest of them are now, she mused.

Alex DeLarge was currently working for the Government and seemed to be protected by them. She scowled.

Alex Fucking DeLarge, Alexander Fucking Zalachenko, all protected by fucking governments.

So he's another misogynistic asshole protected by the state. Figures.

It was hours later that she decided she had enough information she needed. She turned her computer off and went to bed. She had a plan; she'd go to Elstree and expose DeLarge for the chauvinistic pig he was and the British government as the corrupt way it had.

"You're going where?" Mikael Blomkvist asked after Salander told him where she was going, recalling the last time she disappeared without a trace. She'd already told Palmgren, Mimmi, Armansky, and anyone else she felt who needed and deserved to know where she'd be for the next week.

"It'll be for just a week," she said. "I'll be back."

"Where exactly is Elstree, though?" he demanded. "And how come I've never heard of it?"

"Near London. And you don't pay enough attention to maps."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"I told everyone who needed to know including you," she answered.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Come to bed with me? One last night before you leave?"

She allowed him a small, crooked smile and followed him to his bedroom.


	3. Depression

Anne sighed and looked at her daughter. Morose, sullen, depressed, Rosalie had done a complete 180 from the cheerful bright young thing she was just 24 hours ago. What had happened? She knew her daughter was out last night. She had no idea, however, what time she came in.

Whatever the cause, she hated to see her daughter in such sad spirits.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" she begged. "Only yesterday you were happy-go-lucky. Now it's like all the life has just been sucked away from you."

Rose didn't answer. She only stared at her worrisome mother and wished she'd leave her room. Rose hurt inside. Physically, she was worried about her sexual health. She doubted Alex was considerate enough to wear a condom and she knew he came in her every time. She hoped that she was fortunate enough not to be pregnant or have an infection-her life would be ruined.

After getting in at early in the morning-and yes, she did consider herself lucky not to have been raped again by other hooligans possibly lurking-she barely slept. The one time she did sleep she had a terrible nightmare, which she could still recall. It was vivid. Alex's hands grabbing and groping at her as she screamed and nobody heard or cared. His face, sneering and leering and laughing at her, a sadistic grin on his face as he savoured her pain. His _thing_ inside her, slamming in and out, over and over again. She woke up sweaty and sobbing. Oh, what a fool she had been to trust him. She wanted desperately to tell her mother, but she knew she'd be reprimanded for disobeying her and talking with that criminal in the first place. It was all her fault.

Her mother looked at her expectantly and Rose knew she expected an answer.

"I just had a bad night, Mom," she lied. "I'm fine."

Anne didn't buy it for one second. "One bad night" doesn't ever result in depression. They didn't lead to horrible nightmares. She knew her daughter had some because she heard her gasp sharply at eight in the morning and ten sob horribly. Something had traumatised her daughter badly. But for now, Anne decided it best to leave it alone for now. She'll talk when she's ready.

"Okay," Anne said, starting to leave. "I won't bother you any more. Just know that I'm always available to talk if you need to."

"Okay, Mom," replied her daughter sullenly. Anne pursed her lips.

"Your uncle has to give a speech today to the country now that he's been re-elected. We need to be there to support him," Anne added.

Rose looked up. "I thought that was Tuesday?"

"No, that's something else entirely. Anyway, I need you to freshen up and try not to look so bummed. Please just pretend."

Rose mumbled a yes loud enough for her mother to just barely hear.

"Here, have some money and go buy yourself a nice new record at the music shop called Melodia. I heard it's nice," Anne said, giving her daughter the money.

"Yeah, Mom, I've been there," Rose said, slightly irritably.

"Have you? Okay, well, here's ten pounds. Records are fairly cheap, aren't they?"

Rosalie put on some fresh clothing, washed face, and walked down to Melodia. Te place was weird, but they had a fantastic vinyl collection. She looked toward the pop section and looked through to see what they had. Nothing new. Well, pop sucked anyway, she thought. She made her way to the classical section only to stop dead in her tracks.

There he was. That monster. Her rapist. Alex. The memories of last night flooded her mind all over again. She was in hell with him for eight hours, can he not just leave her alone?

And then he saw her. He smirked at her.

"Hi hi hi, little sister," he said, approaching her. Rose took a step back in response. "Fancy viddying you here. I didn't know you liked music."

"Of course I do," she said sharply. "Everyone loves music." She refused to look at him.

"Why are you being like that, darling? You were as sweet as an angel last night."

She gave him a deadly glare. "Last night? Are you referring to before or after you _raped _me?" she hissed.

"No need to be harsh," he chuckled, pissing her off more.

"Look, you got what you wanted last night. What more do you want from me? What could I possibly have to give you? I no longer have my virginity."

He came closer toward her until he had her cornered. "Maybe I hadn't gotten everything I wanted," he said softly.

His hand made its way toward her breast and he squeezed it hard, earning himself a sharp yelp from her. He smirked.

He backed off, though, and let her pass him, but not without pinching her ass first, earning yet another yelp.

Without buying anything, she ran out of the shop, eager to get away from him. What did he mean by what he said? He hadn't gotten everything he wanted? What in the hell was that?

Anne was startled to see her daughter enter the building empty-handed. What was shocking, though, was the expression on he face. It looked as though she'd seen a ghost.

"Did they not have anything?" Anne asked, knowing her daughter wouldn't answer if she asked about her expression.

"No, I'll try it another time," Rose responded, her voice having an odd tone to it. Then she disappeared to her room.

* * *

Alex bought yet another classical music record, this time by an up and coming artist whose name he could not recall. He smirked as he walked out the music shop thinking about the look on the girl's face when she saw him and he saw her. He saw the look of utter confusion and terror when, after backing her into a corner, he told her he wasn't sure he was quite done with her and grabbed her breast quite hard and he couldn't resist pinching her behind as she ran way from him out of the store.

What did he mean by what he said? Alex wasn't quite so sure himself. Maybe he wasn't through with her. All these one night stands were getting quite boring and he needed to spice things up a bit. Not with marriage, of course, but with what? He didn't know yet. But he just might figure out soon.

* * *

Dragan Armansky was irritated with Salander. Yet again she runs off. For what? She was vague about the reason, to the point where it felt like she hadn't said anything at all. Well, at least she had the decency to warn him ahead of time, though, he thought. And it wasn't like she was running off to do God knows what on vacation, like that one time a few years back. She'd be back. She wouldn't be gone for a year. He was confident of this fact.

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Mikael Blomkvist already missed Lisbeth. Not in a way that a lover misses his absent significant other, but in the way that a man misses his absent friend whom he occasionally sleeps with. Lisbeth seemed awfully hellbent on this mission of hers. Knowing her, though, it involved a man who hated women. Sometimes she could be predictable. Other times, scarily unpredictable.

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A/N: I know it was very short. I'm hoping to get the next chapter out by Christmas day at the latest, but if not, the 26th. And by the way, I have a new tumblr that's made to promote my stories and keep you updated on when my next chapter will be. It's a rock n roll suicide dot tumblr dot com. With the hyphens in like a-rock-n-roll-suicide. Oh, and it's relatively new, so it's going to have to be worked out with the theme and stuff.


	4. A First Time For Everything

**A/N:** Hey, here's yet another chapter as my Christmas present to you all. Now, for my Christmas present, could you all be so kind as to leave me reviews as presents? Yes, I know this chapter is a little short, but I wanted it out by Christmas, and I want this chapter to show the initial meeting between Alex and Lisbeth. I will try to make the next chapter longer, but that also means a longer wait. Which I think you all can handle. Another thing, I need anyone who likes this story to tell their friends or anyone, really, who would be interested in a crossover story between the Millennium trilogy and A Clockwork Orange to read this story. I need more reviews or at least I know more than one person likes this story. One more thing, it would be nice for you to follow my fanfic tumblr, http / a-rock-n-roll-suicide dot tumblr dot com, so you can keep up with updates on this story. And I really need followers on there anyway. Anyways, merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

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Lisbeth checked into a hotel a quarter after noon. The flight took less time than she expected. She originally thought it would be around night she arrived in London and even later when she drove to Yorkshire. She'd planned to start more thorough research on this 'Cat Lady Killer' and man who hates women the next day, when she had rested. But no, it was still daytime. So she decided to check the city out. That's when she discovered the Korova. She wasn't a master linguist, but she knew enough to know that korova was the Russian word for milk. She wondered what kind of a place-bar, it seemed-sold milk? You could get some at the nearest grocery store.

Intrigued, she walked in. By the look of the decorations-the weird Russian words on the walls in weird white font, the naked women statues in sexually submissive poses-she knew she was going to detest this place. Waltzing up to the counter, she paid in pounds-good thing she happened to stop by a bank to convert a small amount of krona into British pounds-and ordered a milk in English. The guy told her about the different kinds of milk-here, they sold a thing called milk plus, which was milk laced with drugs, such as vellocet, drencrom, and the like.

Salander was not impressed. She ordered an innocent moloko-plain milk-and the guy gave her an odd look but sighed and gave her an empty glass told her where to pour some from.

She scowled as she had to reach between a statue woman's legs and grab a switch and then position her glass so that the plain milk pouring from the statue's nipple would go in. This place was so...tacky and demeaning. She sat at a table and drank some of her milk and then she pulled out her iPhone that Blomkvist bought her for Christmas. Well, it was for this year's Christmas, but she secretly found it and took it with her when she left Sweden. She wondered how long it would take for him to put two and two together.

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Alex wanted to up the ante a bit-maybe try his hand at kidnapping, attaining himself a sex slave? Oh, what fun it would be to torture some poor girl, rape her in a thousand ways, come up for new horrifying tortures every day for her to endure. And when he got bored with the girl, he'd get rid of her. He wouldn't let her go, of course, that would mean risking her going to the police. On the other hand, what difference did it make if she went to the police? He had immunity from the government. He could get away with murder with not even a slap on the wrist. But then again…murder could be fun. He's only killed someone once, that damned cat lady years ago, and even then it was supposed to only knock her out, not kill the fucking whore. But he did. And he wound himself up in prison for two of his originally sentenced fourteen years. But that didn't matter. He wanted to intentionally commit murder.

But for tonight, for old time's sake, he'd find one more girl to take home for a night. Stepping into the Korova, he instantly saw a girl so different from all the others. He was intrigued. He came closer to get a good look at her. Her back was to him, but he could sense her unwelcoming aura around her. Her hair was dyed jet black and short as a fuse. She had a motorcycle jacket draped on the seat and she had a black t-shirt on, but he could make out the hint of a dragon tattoo on her left shoulder blade. Her shoes were black boots, not like the ones he wore as a gang leader, but somewhat similar. She had a few piercings in her ears.

_This one's an odd one,_ he thought. _So unlike all the rest._

He wondered if she was pierced in other places, too, and he went around to get a look at her face. It wasn't a very good look, though, as her face was downcast. She had a full, practically untouched glass of moloko in front of her.

"Hi hi hi, my little sister," he said cheerfully. She didn't look up.

"I said, hi hi hi," he repeated. She looked up this time. Her expression was not friendly in the least bit. In fact, her expression was blank, unreadable. Her eyes were black and they startled him. "What are you doing, sitting here all on your oddy-knocky?"

She had a puzzled look on her face, but then it vanished as quickly as it came. She did not answer his question, though.

"Can you not talk, lovely?" Him calling her lovely made her growl irritably at him. He reached over to stroke her face, but when his hand was two inches away from her face, she slapped it away.

"Who do you think you are?" she snapped angrily. Her voice had a Swedish accent.

He was getting impatient, and yes, he was a bit pissed she dared slap his hand away. She was definitely new here if she did not know him or at least, know _of _him. He grabbed her arm and jerked her out of her chair roughly.

"You're coming with me, devotchka, and don't think to protest. No one's going to help you," he said darkly.

But then he felt something sharp connect to his face and in the next moment, he's down on the ground, both hands over his bleeding nose. He couldn't believe it. The fucking bitch punched him, and it fucking hurt too. He'd have women and girls struggle and attempt to fight, but their punches were weak. The girl's-he wasn't quite sure of her age. She was under five foot tall and she looked like a teenager, but the key word here is "looked"-punch was fast and hard and unexpected.

As soon as he got up, glaring angrily at the faces who dared stare at him, she was out of the place. Determined on getting her home, he ran out after her. But as soon as he made it out into the cold night's air, she was gone in a flash.

All in all, the experience was…odd.

"Well," he said to himself, "guess I'm going to have to settle for a regular girl to take home tonight."

* * *

Salander couldn't believe the nerve of that guy, grabbing at her, thinking he could just turn on his charms and take her where ever and do God knows what. Well...she knew what a guy like him wanted to do to her. She managed to get a good look at him before he started manhandling her. Piercing blue eyes, honey-coloured hair, arrogant smirk. He faintly resembled the mugshot of the killer she'd read about online, but she'd have to double check. Who was this guy, and how dare he try to manhandle her? Ugh, she thought. But she did take small amusement in the fact that he seemed rather shocked when she'd punched him. Guess he wasn't used to girls fighting back when he attacked...or they did, but not as hard and effective as she was.

She hopped in the rental car she came in and drove off before he could chase after her. From the mirror, she could see the man exit the bar and look around. Of course, he would not suspect her car. She doubted he even saw it, or if he did, she doubted he'd suspect it was _her _car. It looked nothing like what his preconceived notions must imagine she drove.

As soon as she got to the hotel, she ran up the stairs and opened up her suite. Immediately she turned on her computer. She pulled up Google and did a web search for "Cat Lady Killer." The photos of him were a bit outdated-they went back a few years-but still resembled the prick at the bar, which could only mean she had met Alex DeLarge, yet another Alexander who hated women. What was about her that attracted these fucking shitheads?

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**A/N:** As always, reviews and favourites are always encouraged. Tumblr followers are also more than welcome.


	5. The Salander Interviews: Dimitri Clarke

_**A/N:**__ Happy New Year's everyone! Honestly, I wasn't planning on uploading this for a few more days, but then I got done unexpectedly yesterday, so here's another chapter to start off 2013. I would appreciate if people followed my fanfic tumblr, a-rock-n-roll-suicide, for updates on this fic and sneak peeks of next chapters. I won't update until I get a follower. I'm serious. This is where I tell you when my next update will be, if I got new fic ideas, etc. So please follow. And if you don't have a tumblr, get one because you're really missing out. It would mean a lot._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own any characters or settings you were familiar with before reading this fic._

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_Alexander Burgess was born June 13th, 1989 in Yorkshire, England to Philip Andrew Burgess and Shelia Ann Burgess, nee Powell. His parents were both factory workers. This is how they met and fell in love and got married. A year later, they gave birth to Alex. A bright young boy, he used to make really good grades until middle school, and then his grades went downhill. No one saw this as abnormal or a foreshadowing of his future delinquencies not just out of school, but during school hours as well. For the first thirteen years of his life, personality-wise, Alex was perfectly normal, but then again, Sheila and Philip were extraordinarily unobservant. His classmates and teachers said that for the first twelve and a half years he was normal, but in the middle of of thirteenth year, he changed. He became sort of a smart aleck, always talking back. He stopped doing his homework and his school work and no longer paid attention in class. He often got in fights with other kids, namely William 'Billyboy' Connaught and his friends. When he was thirteen he adopted the teen boy slang, called nadsat, and slowly submerged himself in the dangerous world of juvenile delinquency. _

_His first real crime was in 2002. Thirteen year old Alex Burgess, who had by now started calling himself Alex DeLarge, a pun on Alexander the Great as Alexander the Larger, referring to his penis size, and demanded others do the same, was caught shoplifting a girlie magazine from a gas station. Sheila had never in her life been more humiliated. This whole fiasco and the resulting lecture from Alex's mum and dad about how crime never pays was supposed to hinder Alex from a life of crime and depravity. Alas, it did not. It only made him sneakier and just a bit less cocky. He dragged his school friends-Dimitri Clarke, a burly kid who wasn't too bright and whom was given the nickname Dim by Alex, George Marcus, aka Georgie-boy, an ambitious young fellow, and Peter Tarn, rumoured to have been threatened into the gang, also called Peter Rabbit, Pete, and Petey. Pete was the quietest, kindest, and least violent of the gang. He also happened to be the one Alex was closest to-down with him and thus his life of crime began. Alex and his gang made a name for themselves as one of the most notorious gang in the city, their status only rivalled by Billyboy's gang. Alex and his gang all committed their fair share of crime-including, by not limited to, petty theft, rape, gang violence, assault, among other things-but Alex was especially one of the most violent and sadistic gang leaders out there, second only to Billyboy Connaught. Often times he would mutilate small helpless animals for his own sick amusement. He was also the second harshest and least fairest gang leader ever, often abusing his followers if they even protested his plans for the night. _

_When asked by the police whether she knew what her son did at night, Sheila had this to say:_

_"Alex used to tell me he did odd jobs here and there to get some money-or pretty polly as he liked to call it. His father, Phil, got a bit suspicious after a while, but I thought it was just paranoia from watching too many news programmes and reading too many newspapers. It never crossed my mind that my one and only son had gotten mixed up in gang activity and crime. He was always a good boy, so polite, always said his prayers. But I guess I was always too blind too see, or he changed somehow and I never could see that change."_

_In 2004, at the ripe young age of fifteen, Alex was convicted of first degree murder and theft, having 'accidentally' killed the old cat lady of the health farm with her own giant ceramic phallus. He was sentenced to fourteen years in the state jail. However, he only served two years because he volunteered for the Ludovico treatment. For two weeks, they drugged him and forced him to watch violent films in hopes that this would make him adverse to violence and sex. It did the trick, but there was one setback. The soundtrack to the films was Beethoven, Alex's favourite composer. Thanks to Ludovico, Beethoven and all other classical music was forever ruined for him. Once Alex was a free man he went through hard troubles-his parents rented out his room, the tramps he only a few years before beat up, he discovered is old friend Dim and his old nemesis Billyboy had become police officers and upon recognising him, they took him out back to the countryside and raped and beat Alex, Alex then going and staying with a political activist and upon discovering Alex wronged him in the past, forced Alex to commit suicide, thus releasing Alex from the "cure." And then Alex received immunity from the Minister of Interior himself, not wanting to screw his chances of winning the next elections._

_Other worthy mentions-In 2004, a day before his arrest, Alex had, with the help of his droogs, hospitalised several people in one night: Billyboy and his gang, the shopkeepers at a drug store, and the political activist F. Alexander and his wife, whom Alex ad his gang were rumoured to have gang-raped, though none of the members were convicted and the rapists were reported to have been wearing masks, concealing their identities. _

Lisbeth pursed her lips at this new information. Alex was awfully young to be a hardened criminal. Most of the people she'd dealt with were at least in their mid-forties. But no, Alex was eighteen. Very young and very sadistic. She read the articles regarding the fates of everyone in that particular gang.

_Alexander "DeLarge" Burgess: Now eighteen, he is very wealthy due to his high-paying government job. He lives alone with his elderly parents, who kicked the lodger Joe out and offered him his old room back when he was still recovering from his suicide attempt a year ago._

Lisbeth rolled her eyes. Of _course_ they'd give him a good job. They wouldn't want him to complain and fuck up their chances of holding office yet again.

_Dimitri "Dim" Clarke: Now at the ripe old age of twenty-one, he is no longer involved in a life of crime. In fact, he is a police officer, ironically enough. He lives alone in an apartment._

_George Marcus: Georgie died at the young age of twenty during an attempted robbery. He would have been twenty-two today._

_Peter "Peter Rabbit or Pete" Tarn: He is nineteen and has settled down with a pretty wife, Georgina, eighteen, who is said to have a baby on the way. _

Lisbeth decided she'd go to visit a few of these people.

* * *

Dimitri Clarke walked in his shitty, run-down flat and turned on the lights. The place was not particularly nice, but it was shelter and all he could afford on his measly police salary. They normally paid policemen a good amount of pretty polly; not enough to be rich, mind you, but enough to not live in the hellhole Dimitri called home. But thanks to Dimitri's past as a gang member, they were not willing to pay him as much as the others. _A load of bollocks,_ he thought. _Okay, I was a troubled kid back in my day. But isn't it good that I'm willing to change my ways and help society?_

He knew the answer to that question, or at lease what they would say. It didn't matter to them how long he'd been in the business of ultraviolence, or that he wanted to be good. Once a hoodlum, always a hoodlum was their mantra, and they did not pay hoodlums. At least not decently.

As soon as he got in through the door, though, his train of thought was lost as he felt electric bolts jolt through his body and he lost all conciousness.

When he woke up, he wasn't on the floor any more. He was tied up with a noose around his neck snugly. His wrist were bound together behind his back, his legs were tied apart, and he noticed he was standing on a stool to ensure he didn't die before he was supposed to.

Instinctively, he panicked. He cried for help, not noticing at first, being as dim as he was, the tape over his mouth.

"I would hush up if I were you," a Swedish female voice said. He looked over and saw a petite young woman with jet black hair, a graphic and vulgar old t-shirt with the phrase FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING FUCK on it, ripped jeans, and multiple piercings sitting on his couch. _His_ couch. He glared at her. What in hell is she doing? Was the woman fucking retarded or something? Did she not see the uniform on him? Or was on him, because he saw she'd replaced his uniform with his own pj's, which, of course, meant she'd also been in his room, that fucking whore.

"You're wondering why I'm here and why I dared go through your room," she said, as if she'd read his mind. "And why I dared to Taser a cop. Well, don't worry. You'll get your answers. And you'll get out of this ordeal alive and unharmed. Well, only mostly unharmed, you'll have those nasty bruises on your neck and you may have to call a few days off of work unless you want to explain those bruises. And the explanation, by the way, would not have anything to do with me. Just so we're clear." She glared at him dangerously.

He was slightly in awe. How this ninety-pound woman managed to undress and redress and then hang him up like this was unbelievable. Due to her height and weight, he at first assumed she was in her teens. Maybe she was a teenage hooligan. But then again, he never thought teen ruffians could pull all this off. They were much too hasty and impatient for the ultraviolence. He should know, he was one once. Besides, she was foreign.

"You're also probably wondering how someone of my stature and size could manage all of this. I'm no mind reader, Dim; I've just gotten so many questioning looks about my appearance. Besides, I'd be thinking the same damn thing in your place. Now about the other worries you'll have about whether you'll get out of this alive and info on why I had to go to great lengths to do this. Why couldn't I just corner you and ask you for coffee in here instead of assaulting you and tying you up? Well, you'll get your answers after I get mine. All I want are a few things: your cooperation, your answers, and your solemn vow not to breathe a word of this to anyone even if they held a gun to your fucking head. Nod if you agree. Shake your head if you disagree so I can kick the chair from underneath your feet and let you hang to death," she instructed.

He nodded quickly. She approached him.

"Alright. I'm going to remove the tape. Remember who's in charge right now and don't try anything. I'm going to ask some questions and it's information that's really fucking important. If it wasn't I wouldn't be talking to you. I distrust police officers for reasons that are way too long to divulge, and none of your fucking business."

He nodded again. She removed the tape. He winced at the stinging pain.

"You know a man by the name of Alex DeLarge?" she asked.

His eyes widened at the familiar name. He hadn't seen Alex since he and Billyboy took him out to the countryside and made sure he stayed cured in their own sick, twisted way.

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, I know him. He used to be my droog."

"What the hell is a droog?"

"A friend. It's nadsat slang." One thing from his teen years he never got rid of was his penchant for using nadsat language in everyday speech. He'd been trying for months to knock it off; it was pissing everyone else off, but old habits seemed inclined to die hard. "Say, you're not from around here, are ya?" The question earned him a slap.

"I'll ask the questions here, thank you," she snapped. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"Last May, I believe. We took him out back-we being me and Billyboy-and beat him and, uh, raped him to make sure he stays cured. I'm sure you know all about the Ludovico debacle."

"Raped him?"

"Yeah, to show who's boss around here, who's the master and leader now. We're not homosexuals, if that's what you think. At least I'm not; Billyboy's a bit queer. It was about power, you see."

"Yes, I know what rape is about. Tell me, when did you first meet him?"

"He was thirteen. I was sixteen. He told me he wanted to form a group to defend ourselves against Billyboy, who back in those days, was a gang leader. At least he told me that was his intentions. He met Georgie at the age of seventeen, Georgie was seventeen, that is, and told him the same shit. But we soon learned that wasn't his intentions at all when he not only had us fight against Billyboy but steal from tramps and beat them and rape women. The first few times we fought against Billyboy and his gang, we lost and Alex punished us for being failures. That was his word for it, but it was actually just him being pissed off at losing against his arch rival and abusing us to blow off some steam. By the time we got Pete, we had sharpened up our skills and had won against Billyboy more than once. Pete never wanted to be in the gang. He was a good kind, honestly he was. He only joined because Alex threatened to hurt his mum, and he loved his dear mum more than anything and was protective over her since his father walked out on both of them when he was ten. He was fourteen when he 'joined.'"

Dim never imagined in his wildest fantasies he'd ever spill his secrets to a complete stranger, even one who threatened to kill him.

"What was he like as a person?" she asked.

Dim sighed. "Charming and manipulative. He liked to call us his 'droogies,' his friends, but it seemed we were more like henchmen. He could be very charming and he did have his rare moments where he was kind, but those, as I said, were rare. He hated me from the start because, well, I'm not the brightest person alive. But he let me in his gang because I was strong and could fight with the best of 'em. He liked Georgie for a while, but eventually Georgie became more and more ambitious and wanting to be the master and leader, and Alex did not take too kindly to that attitude. He was closest to Pete, who never grumbled or complained and always obeyed Alex. He feared Alex the most. So Alex liked him. He was good with the ladies, knowing how to get into their pants. Sometimes they went along with his plans and sometimes he raped them. Either way, he did get a lot of action."

The girl asked him about how Alex winded up in prison while the others weren't even on the scene at the time of arrest. So he told her.

After a while, she decided she got everything she needed. The other information she'd get from Pete later. She kicked the stool from underneath him and he panicked as he hung. She promised she wouldn't let me die! he thought. That fucking cunt! I'll kill her!

She rolled her eyes sensing his reaction. "Relax, I've got a knife. I'll cut you loose." And she did and he fell to the floor with a hard thump. She dropped the knife by his bound hands.

"You can free yourself the rest of the way. Remember: you are not to tell a soul about this. I'll know if you do and your life will be a living hell."

And he nodded and then satisfied, she left.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to anyone who reviews, reads, favourites this story. I'm really appreciative. Also the allusions to Alex's beating by his old friend and old rival Dim and Billyboy refer to the book version of that scene-this fic incorporates elements from both versions-were they take him back and he says they beat him and left him shagged and fagged but there was a sentence where he said he couldn't bear to describe what happened next. I can't quote it, as I don't have the book with me as of late, but it's there. It's implied he was raped by them in an act of domination on their part and submission on his. _


	6. The Salander Interviews: Peter Tarn

Pete Tarn came home from a hard day's work at the factory. His wife Georgina was still at work for the national paper. It paid a lot and was wonderful, but she worked a lot and worked hard. Her job was to write advice columns. That Georgina was the one really bringing in the income was unusual amongst a lot of older conservative folk, especially her parents, very conservative religious people who were stuck in the fifties. They were horrified when they found out Georgina was an atheist when she told them once a few weeks before she married Pete and believed Pete to be the "corrupter of their beautiful daughter," despite the fact that she'd been an atheist before they'd even met, just after she moved out away from them. Pete couldn't stand them, to be honest, but he never complained on the rare occasions Georgina dragged him along for dinner with them because as annoyed with them as she may be, Georgina was still their daughter and still loved them. Pete decided to get a job at the factory instead of working for the national paper for two reasons: A.) because he was a shitty writer and B.) he wanted to be home at a decent hour to cook dinner for Georgina. And he didn't want Georgina the only one working, so he took a job at the nearest factory, which happens to be the same factory Alex's parents worked at before the retired a year ago.

Alex...

The name sent a chill down his spine. Alex DeLarge spotted them at a cafe a few days ago and made the unwelcome memories flood back in Pete's mind. Memories of him being threatened to join a gang, the first time he watched his "droogs" raped a woman, the first time he was forced to rape a woman, the countless ultraviolence he inflicted on others high on drugged milk. It wasn't his fault, was it? His involvement in the gang? He was forced into doing bad things. They would have known if he'd told and would have killed him for it.

Damn Alex for making him feel this way!

He went to shut the door, but as he did so, a boot stopped it before it closed. A young woman of about under five feet opened it. She was very skinny, almost anorexic skinny and had multiple piercings and tattoos.

Her expression was unreadable.

"Um, may I ask who are you?" he asked, startled by her presence. "Not to mention, why the hell are you in my apartment?"

She stepped inside past him, making her way over to the couch and he stared dumbfounded.

"You know, it's sort of rude to come barging into strange peoples' houses as if you owned the place and sit on their damn furniture as if they were old friends." He was sort of nervous. For one, what kind of person was she? Was she a new hooligan? There weren't hardly any female gang members in his days as part of his gang, but they did exist and things did change since those long and gone days. Maybe there were more female leaders. But then again, if she were a gang member, wouldn't she assault him first? Unless she was the more subtle criminal. Another thing he worried about was Georgina. She would be home in an hour and a half and she wouldn't be exactly pleased to find him with a younger looking woman (looks could be deceiving. She looked like a teenager but it could be that she was just really short and tiny), whether or not he protested he barely knew the devotchka. "If you would mind telling me your business here?"

"I won't tell you my name," she said suddenly. "Or any information I don't deem necessary. I will tell you that I don't plan on harming you and would only wish to ask some questions on a really important subject. Trust me, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here."

He sat across from her. "What's the subject then?" Pete asked. Maybe the more he cooperates, the sooner she'll be gone. He needs her gone soon. "And how long exactly will this take?"

"You're worried about your wife finding me here," she said. He looked at her, shocked. How could she know that? And how does she know he's married?

"You don't know that," he argued. "Or that I'm married at all. For all you know, I could be single and happy as hell."

"Funny, you don't _look_happy as hell," she said dryly. "I can tell by your expression you're anxious about something-obviously my being here. And you're wearing a wedding ring. It could be a promise ring, but you're twenty, are you not? No one your age does that shit anymore. I'm not stupid."

He felt stupid, though.

"Anyway, are you going to keep me here all day for your wife to find me, or shall I tell you the subject and ask you the questions?" she asked impatiently.

"The latter choice, of course."

"Good. I want to know about your old friend/gang leader, Alex Burgess. Or more commonly known, Alex DeLarge."

He gaped at her. She knew his ex-friend? Well, not ex-friend, they still occasionally talked. Being around him was generally an unpleasant experience, but he and Georgina both thought it rude to refuse his company.

"Wh-what do you want to know?" he stuttered.

"What was he like as a person?"

"I'm sure you've heard that he was charming and manipulative. He was, very much so, and very much was he evil. He forced me into his gang, I suppose you've read. He had a certain quality to him. I never really hated him, but I was uncomfortable in his presence. He made me do horrible things, but let me just watch-he wouldn't let me take my eyes off of them-instead of partake I the rapes of women. He did make me beat their husbands or boyfriends if they were with them and do other violent acts. It was horrible. The thing I remember most was how he enjoyed this, the violence and others' pain. Every time we made someone bleed and moan in pain, he looked as if in pleasure. He's a sadist. Even towards us, he was. He was a harsh gang leader, kicking the shit out of us when we committed even the tiniest infractions, such as talking back. There's this one incident where we were at the Korova milkbar and we heard a rich lady with her socialite male friends or colleagues laugh. And then she started singing Ode to Joy in German and Alex heard and he had the same look on his face as usual when he caused a person harm. Dim, one of the members, decided, rather foolishly, to make lip music, making the woman stop singing and stare in our general direction and pissing Alex off. Not one to subtly tell Dim to knock it the fuck off, he whacked Dim with his cane. Of course Dim was pissed and Georgie, the ambitious one, stood up for the poor guy. Alex wouldn't have none of it and told them off. Later the next day he beat Georgie and Dim and tossed them in the Marina while I stayed away naturally. He's cruel. But he had his moments where I bonded with him well."

She asked him about how he got roped into the gang, their plan to get Alex landed in jail, and other stuff. When she was certain she'd gotten sufficient information, she'd left without so much a "thank you for your time" or a "sorry I barged into your apartment." Apparently the woman didn't play that game.

* * *

**Oh my god, I'm _so _sorry I took so long to update. I'll try not to leave you guys hanging on so long. I know I really hate when stories I love don't update for months or weeks. Anyway, I really wish more people would read this and follow my tumblr, a-rock-n-roll-suicide. I literally have two followers on it, and they are myself on my personal blog (don't judge me) and a One Direction fan. Now, this is not me being condescending towards Directioners. I wouldn't have a problem with a 1D fan following my blog if I knew she'd actually be_ interested_ in the fandoms I write for. I looked through her blog because I didn't want to judge based on her 1D URL. She's a 13-year-old girl. Nothing she posts suggests she'd be interested in ACO fics or Millennium trilogy fics or crossovers of the two. I'm confused. And depressed that my only follower besides myself is a Directioner who doesn't even seem to like ACO. Anyway, enjoy. I'll try to have the next chapter up by February 15th. "Try" being the key word, of course.**

**5th. "Try" being the key word, of course.**

** fan following my blog if I knew she'd actually be_ interested_ in the fandoms I write for. I looked through her blog because I didn't want to judge based on her 1D URL. She's a 13-year-old girl. Nothing she posts suggests she'd be interested in ACO fics or Millennium trilogy fics or crossovers of the two. I'm confused. And depressed that my only follower besides myself is a Directioner who doesn't even seem to like ACO. Anyway, enjoy. I'll try to have the next chapter up by February 15th. "Try" being the key word, of course.**


	7. The Speech

**Warning: Molestation, digital rape, oral rape. Just rape.**

It's been three days since that night at the Korova, but he could not get over what happened. A girl had actually gotten away. He didn't even get to feel her up. Not that there seemed to be much to feel, her groodies were pretty small. Of course he's had girls who've punched and kicked at her-some of them had a fighting chance, but they usually did something to fuck up their chances of getting away from his grasp, like trip, or get too cocky and relax too soon, looking behind them. They should know better than to relax before they entered their homes. If it'd ever happened, before tonight, he'd give up and find someone else or go home if he was too tired. There were plenty of girls in the city. But this girl, the one who got away, she was something special. She didn't look flustered when he spoke to her gently like other girls did-even the ones who later tried resisting him and failed. She didn't blush. She didn't smile. Her gaze was cold and hard. She looked different, too. Not sexy or pretty the way other girls were. Her face was full of piercings and her body was decorated in tattoos. He wondered if she had any piercings elsewhere and he decided he would have to find out. He will find out. He had to have her, had to possess her. He wanted to break her, fuck her, destroy her, tear her, rip her to shreds. But in the meantime, he'd take Rosalie-her name suddenly came to him-and break her will, her soul, everything.

* * *

Her uncle's speech had to be rescheduled to three days later on account of food poisoning so here she was today getting ready for her uncle's big important speech. She hated the fact that she had to wear a really fancy dress-she's always hated formal wear. But what she hated more fervently was the fact that she had to pretend. Pretend everything was alright, pretend her innocence wasn't cruelly and violently ripped from her just days before. Fake a smile for her dear uncle. Everything was fine, Uncle Fred, all hunky-dory. No, uncle, I'm still a daisy fresh pure as white virgin. No, uncle, I was not raped and beaten and treated like a cheap, worthless whore. I'm fine, fine, happy. The bruises on my body? Oh, I fell. Silly me. You know how clumsy I can be, well, not really, since I barely see you thanks to your important job as Minister. I'm so happy for you, by the way, even though this means I see you even less. Oh well, that's life.

She protested at first. She did not want to go out and act like her normal self. Normal Rosalie, _virgin_ Rosalie, died four days ago in the Cat Lady Killer's bed. But her mother had none of it.

"Rose, whatever happened to you, I'm sorry, I really am, but you need to pull it together for your uncle. Besides, sitting up in your room sulking all day is not healthy. I'm here when you need to talk, but I cannot allow you to sit in your room forever. Besides, it's only three and a half hours and then you can go back moping," Anne said sternly.

So the decision was made. Luckily, the bruises were healing fine and it didn't hurt too bad anymore, but it still ached to sit and she always whimpered when she sat down.

She hoped time would go by fairly quickly.

* * *

Anne was more worried than ever. What was wrong with her Rose? She never got over the other night. She hardly ever leaves her room except to eat or go to school. During dinner, she never talked. Any attempts at conversation were made by Anne and they failed. She knew something must be wrong.

She hoped, though, that Rose would pretend everything was hunky-dory at the speech. This is a big day for Fred. Her brother would never speak to her again if she or her daughter fucked it up.

* * *

Today was the speech for the Minister of the Interior or Inferior. He asked Alex to attend and promised a very generous amount of money if he did. So he showed. Alex dressed his best in a nice tux and his hair combed and his favourite bowler hat. He looked quite nice and dashing, if he did say so himself. He prepared himself for four hours of boredom and brought along reading material, not anticipating who'd be there.

When he got there, he saw her instantly. Rosalie. What was she doing here? No matter, he smirked at her and took his seat behind hers. This speech looked to be even more fun than he originally thought.

He made a mental note to get her alone as soon as this ended when everyone was leaving and it was busy.

* * *

Her face turned white and her breath caught when she saw him. _Oh no_, she groaned internally. _What's _he_ doing here? _Her mother asked if anything was wrong and she shook her head and lied and said she's just peachy. She put on her best happy face and pretended like her rapist wasn't behind her. It was hard. She knew he knew she was there. She also knew he'd have a field day tormenting her during the speech.

When the Minister entered the room and stood at the podium, everyone stood in respect.

He began his speech as soon as they all sat back down by saying it was great everyone could be here, including his lovely sister Anne, his beautiful niece Rosalie, and his employees, including one Mr. Alexander DeLarge.

And then her heart stopped. He worked for her uncle. She knew from the papers he had a nice government job. She didn't know he worked directly with her uncle.

"Why didn't you tell me your uncle's my boss?" he whispered in her ear. He knew he was banned from fucking the government official's daughters. But they never said anything about the Minister's niece.

She ignored him. But she felt his arms snake themselves around her waist and she couldn't jerk them off of her for fear of attracting attention to herself and away from Uncle Fred. This day was his, not hers. Besides, it's not like Alex could do much in a room full of people.

He growled softly and moved his arms downward. She was looking real pretty today in a short but modest velvet blue dress that showed off her long legs but was appropriate for a speech to support her uncle. He fixed that by lifting her dress ever so slightly so he had easy access but he wouldn't be noticed. His fingers slowly traced her skin and she shivered and swatted them away to no avail. He lifted one hand up and put it down her shirt and he grabbed her breast through her lacy bra.

"You'd do well as to not make a sound, lovely," he hissed menacingly. His other hand was up her skirt discreetly and it found its way into her panties and she struggled to maintain her composure as he digitally raped her. He kissed her neck hungrily and bit down hard. She bit her lip. His other hand squeezed her breast hard and pinched the nipple. After a while, he stopped and stood up and whispered in her ear he was going to the bathroom and if she didn't show in five minutes, he'd come and get her later.

Three minutes later, she told her mother where she'd be and discreetly made her way to the bathroom and her rapist closed and locked the door behind her.

She noticed with dread his erection standing straight at attention. He smirked at her.

"Strip for me. Slowly, so I can viddy every inch of you," he ordered. She lifted her dress up over her body and let it fall to the floor.

"A-all the way?" she asked timidly. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, of course," he said.

She slowly unclasped her bra and it fell on her dress. Her nipples hardened upon feeling the cold air against them. Alex licked his lips watching her. She turned around and removed her underwear, bending down to show off her ass. She figured the more turned on he was, the shorter he lasted.

When she was fully naked, he stripped too and ordered her to get on her knees in front of him. He grabbed her hair and forced her hair closer to his crotch.

"You are to suck me, put that pretty little mouth to good use," he said, abandoning his nadsat. Alex forced himself in her mouth, moaning and grinding against her face. Hot tears streamed down her face and she tried not to choke. She could predict what he'd do if she did. She hoped he wouldn't last long, but he did. He lasted for a good twenty minutes, moaning and yanking her hair and fucking her mouth. By the time he came in her mouth (and he did demand she swallow it all.) she felt as if her jaw would lock up. It was definitely sore.

Rosalie reached for her clothes to put them on, but he stopped her.

"Now, now, sladky devotchka," he scolded her. "Did I govoreet you could put back on your platties?"

She whimpered. "What else do you want from me?" she asked. "Why do you want me so badly?"

Alex pulled her hair and forced her to stand. She did, crying out. "Because you're mine now, love," he whispered in her ear.

He forced her to bend over the sink. Her face was wet with tears, some of them fresh as she anticipated what was coming. Alex undressed and stood behind her, admiring her. He was never an ass man; he always preferred breasts. But he could see she didn't have too bad a butt and he couldn't resist slapping it hard, making her cry out. Being not prepared, he wet his hand and used it as makeshift lube. He entered her slowly, savouring her cries of pain. And then he pulled out all the way and slammed back in.

He raped her anally for about twenty to forty minutes. Either way, it felt like twenty to forty hours for Rosalie. Finally, he came inside her with a grunt and one last extra hard thrust into her and then pulled out.

"Welly well well," he said, smirking at her and then pulling her hair to drag her to the ground. "I had the most choodessny time fillying with you, lovely. Were you having as much fun as I was?"

She let out a sob in response, now curled in a fetal position.

He smirked. "You can put your clothes on now, my darling, but don't messel for a minoota I'm letting you loose to tell your em what happened in here. Besides, you're mine now."

She whimpered and put on her clothes, wincing and moaning in pain and softly swearing. If she thought she was sore Friday night, her body Monday afternoon was practically on fire with pain. She didn't look at her body as she dressed, particularly her lower regions. She knew how bad she looked.

He led her out the bathroom but made sure she never ran out back where the Minister-her uncle, his boss-was still giving his speech. He saw a back door and, grabbing her wrists firmly, dragged her to his car and threw her in the back seat.

"I better not hear any creeching," he warned, "or else."

She didn't know what "or else" entailed, nor was she too keen on finding out, so she didn't scream, though she did silently weep to herself. He drove to his new flat and dragged inside, but he didn't take her to his room. Instead, he took her to a basement. It was cold down there, and dark.

"This will be your new domy," he said. "Your bed's over there." He pointed to a mattress with a pillow and a very thin blanket.

"That," Alex said, pointing to a table in the middle with straps, "is where I fuck you when I want to. You ever try giving anyone the old in-out, in-out on a lousy mattress? It's not fun, and you can't tie her legs and wrists."

She wondered if he'd have his way again, and he answered her thoughts by ordering her to strip and climb on the table. When she had done so, he had her lying on his rape bed, as she called it, with her legs spread and he tied her tightly, ensuring she couldn't free herself. In fact, the straps were so tight, they bruised her wrists and ankles.

He stripped and climbed on top of her. She closed her eyes and anticipated the pain.

* * *

An hour later, the Minister was through with his speech. Anne stood and clapped for him along with the other people. She even smiled. But it didn't reach her eyes, for she was worried for her daughter, who'd been in the bathroom for about an hour and a half. When people started filing out, she went to see Fred.

"Congrats, Fred," she said stiffly. "I'm proud of you. Mom and Dad both would've been. Rose's happy for you too."

"Thanks, Anne," he said warmly. "Speaking of Rose, where is she? I know she was here, I saw her. But then she disappeared."

"She went to the bathroom," Anna explained, "which would be normal enough, except that she hasn't gotten back and I'm...worried, Fred." Anne didn't like sharing her feelings with her older brother. She knew he couldn't relate. He never was the emotional type. But she was desperate.

"Is she having one of _those_ weeks?" he asked.

"If she was, she'd still have been out by now, so no. Friday night she went out and she came in late-possibly early early Saturday morning-and she...changed."

He looked at her in confusion. "Changed how exactly?"

"Changed, as in she wasn't the normal cheery girl she normally is," Anne asked, her voice breaking as she remembered her Rosalie, all bruised and silent and fragile.

"She looked fine when I saw her," Fred said.

"She was putting on a happy face for you, Fred. She has been very sullen this weekend. She was locked up in her room all weekend."

Fred frowned. "Okay, this seems suspicious," he said slowly.

"I think something happened to her Friday night, something terrible. You know of the gangs that roam these streets at night. She could have been attacked. And today...she's missing, Fred."

"Go check the bathroom," he instructed. "Make sure she's not still in there."

Anne walked to the woman's bathroom and he followed but stayed outside as she went in and called Rosalie's name.

When she walked out, she looked even more worried. "She's not in there," she said.

Now even Fred was starting to get nervous, though he didn't show it. "I do need to be off to do important things, Anne. Surely you must understand that. But I will send out a search for her, alright?"

Anne nodded. "Today?" she asked hopefully.

"No, Wednesday or Thursday. Maybe she just ran away. I think, Anne, we need to wait to see if she shows up," he told her, and her eyes flashed.

"You think my daughter ran away? For what reason? Fred, she was fine Friday. This weekend she looked traumatised and depressed, but I know she couldn't have ran away," she snapped furiously. He took a step back.

"Look, it's not my rule. You know I'd send a search team at this very second if I could. Remember, Rose is my niece as well as your daughter. I'm almost as worried as you are."

She glared but couldn't argue. She spent the next few days in constant worry and depression. The search team was sent out Thursday.

* * *

**I don't think you know how excited I am for this fic. I have big plans for this fic. Okay, I don't own ACO or TGWTDT. **

**Follow my tumblr. You know my URL. **


	8. An Evil, Monstrous Catastrophe

**Thanks to my new beta, demonbarber14, for correcting everything and making sure everything's hunky dory before I upload this new chapter.**

**I'd ask everyone to follow my fanfic tumblr, but it no longer exists since I deleted and remade my personal blog. **

* * *

_MINISTER'S NIECE REPORTED MISSING _

_ The niece of the recently re-elected Minister of the Interior was reported missing on Wednesday and a search team was sent out early this morning. Rosalie Curtis, 17, was last seen Monday, at the Minister's inauguration speech, but had disappeared before it was over. She is said to have been out with her friends Friday night and to have come in early Saturday morning sobbing and covered in bruises, but she refused to tell anyone what had happened to her. Since that night, she is said to have been very sullen and depressed, "never leaving her room," her mother, Anne, the minister's sister, reported. "Before Friday, she was a very cheery girl. I just wish I knew what happened to her that night, so that we might have some clue as to where she is now" As of late, Rosalie Curtis has yet to be found._

So. It looks like she'll be here awhile after all. It's been six days since she's been in Britain and she has gotten useful information, but not enough. This whole situation involving the Minister's niece might just help her get the woman killer for good. She wondered if the girl had a computer, but then decided of course she did-probably a gift from the Minister himself.

She pulled up her hacking programme and searched for Rosalie Curtis's computer. After ten minutes, she found the right Rose Curtis. In her documents, she found one that looked curious. It was titled 'Him.' She pulled it up. What Lisbeth found was incredibly disturbing.

It was like a diary with all the entries' formats. The first was dated Saturday, 10 January, 2007.

* * *

_Last night was a nightmare. I went out to the Korova to hang with Katherine, Lucy, Jade, and Priscilla, but they ditched me for their stupid boyfriends-even Jade. So this boy chatted me up. I'd heard about him. His name is, get this, Alexander Burgess, aka Alex DeLarge aka the Cat Lady Killer aka Victim of a Modern Age. He's the murderer who went through the Ludovico Treatment. My mom told me once to stay away from him if I ever saw him out and about. She told me about him, and not just about the Ludovico treatment, but about the crimes he had committed. She told me that she had talked to these thirteen-year-old girls who said he picked them up at a music shop in 2004 when they were ten and that he took them home, drugged them, and raped them to _Ode to Joy_. I didn't think so. I thought it was their way of trying to make him look like a monster and ruin his reputation._

_So he approached me and said he noticed I was all by myself. He spoke in that strange language, nadsat, I think, that some of the boys at school use. I told him why I was by my lonesome and he told me, with false kindness and outrage, that my friend's ditching me was an "atrocity." Funny that HE should use the word atrocious to describe my friends' selfishness. He flattered me, telling me a pretty devotchka like myself shouldn't be without someone. I was charmed, I admit. He was charming. He has to be charming to lure girls to his place, given his reputation. Without it, he'd just have his strength to rely on._

_I said I knew of him. He admitted with a grin that he was the Cat Lady Killer. He recognised that my accent sounded American, and he asked me where I was from. I was stupid enough to tell him the whole story of how I came here. I told him what my mother had said to me: "Stay away from him, honey. He's nothing but trouble. I knew boys like him. He only wants one thing from you and you know what that is." I wish I had listened to her._

_He smirked and rubbed my leg and asked if Mom really needed to know everything. I said I supposed not. For about forty-five minutes, he talked with me. He told me about how his old friends were filthy, rotten traitors and may they rot in hell, but he had forgiven one member: Pete, who he still talked to and visited once in a blue moon. He talked about how stupid his parents were and how he was planning on moving out sometime soon. Everything was wonderful. He seemed sweet, sympathetic. I told him more than I should've about myself. He was pleasant and friendly and so very handsome. So, when he asked me to walk home with him, I only hesitated for a moment, but quickly agreed._

_Everything was still fine on our way to his place. He held me close and I felt safe around him. A false sense of security, if you will. I honestly thought he was interested in me as a person. I pointed out my house to him, figuring he'd drop me off and then head to his place alone. He just kept walking, however, with his arm still firmly around my waist, and when I informed him we passed my home, he ignored me. The situation was getting worrisome. It was about ten when we left the Korova and I knew my house was about twenty minutes away, and that I had to be in by eleven._

_I told him my mother would be worried sick if I was gone too long, and that she'd send the police after me. He didn't respond. I asked where he was taking me. He smirked and told me never mind, everything would be alright. Liar. I noticed the sinister edge in his voice. He took me to his apartment complex. The walls were decorated with lewd graffiti, crudely drawn penises, and vulgar sayings on a huge mural. I got scared then. I wondered if the Alex who had sympathized with me at the Korova was the real Alex. I started to pull away from him and said I had to get home. His hold on me tightened. It was then I realized the grave mistake I had made in trusting him. The saying is true: "He is mad who trusts in the tameness of a wolf." Alex was tame at the Korova and quite foolishly, I trusted him. I struggled harder. He gave me a menacing look and threatened me with brute force. I went up the stairs with him. Once in his apartment, he dragged me to his room and locked the door. I kicked and screamed and tried to avoid him as best I could in the small space. He said it was futile. His parents had taken sleep pills an hour before and could not be woken up by a hurricane. "I'll fuck you either way" was all he said._

_He grabbed my hair and dragged me to the bed, where he tied my hands to the headboard with rope and my legs apart. He tore my clothes and groped at me as I shrieked and tried to squirm away from his rough touch. He undressed. He was good-looking. Not too lean, nor too muscular. He was big too. I knew that if things were different, if I had agreed to sleep with him, he'd feel incredibly good inside me. Be that as it may, this was not consensual. I did not agree. It did not feel good. He put on Beethoven. My mother was fond of him, Beethoven, and before last night, I rather liked him too. Alex ruined him for me, like he ruined so many other things. Like my life. He told me he hoped I liked "Ludwig van." _

_He was heavy on me. I didn't scream. Why bother? It didn't change things. I was getting raped, no matter what. His parents wouldn't wake up and save me from hell. He stroked himself until he got erect and tried to enter, but couldn't. I wasn't wet, my body wouldn't accept him. He made me wet. My body was a vicious traitor. He rammed himself in me as hard as he could, and I cried out. As he pounded into me, I whimpered and moaned in pain. He knew why I was moaning, but he taunted me anyway, saying I liked what he was doing to me, calling me a little slut. He knew I wanted this, he said, I was so wet. Why did I protest?_

_He fucked me for eight hours. I was in hell. He raped me with his knife handle. He raped me digitally, anally with his dick, with a dildo. He forced me to perform oral sex on him. He left bruises and bite marks. My body was blue and red and sore all over, especially my cunt. It was the sorest of all. It had taken quite a beating. The worst part of all was the shame. He ripped my virginity away. Not that I believe in "saving it for marriage", but no one wants their first time to be rape. _

_When he released me, he asked if I wanted breakfast. Of course I refused. Why give him another opportunity to ravage me? Besides, I wanted __**nothing**__ from him. I hated him. My mother was right about him and if I had listened, I'd still be a virgin._

_It was maybe five in the morning when I was released and 5:20 when I got home. Mom didn't notice. She only noticed me hours later. He changed me._

* * *

The next entry was dated the next day, Sunday, 11 January, 2007. It was about her mom trying to get her up for church and failing. It also detailed nightmares she'd had about being raped over and over by Alex DeLarge with no hope of relief. Rose always woke screaming and sweaty.

The rest detailed her nightmares, the fact that she couldn't escape him during the daytime either, her self-hatred, her shame. Lisbeth thought back to her own rape by Bjurman in 2004. She didn't cry, she didn't hate herself, she didn't feel dirty. Well, she did, but not like this. What did she do? She got revenge two weeks later. But she knew it wasn't like that with all girls. Often, they felt like their lives were over. They wallowed in self-hatred. Sometimes they never recovered.

She knew she was different. She'd always known it. But unlike other people who were quick to point that out, she also knew she was perfectly sane. Just because she didn't fall apart after her rape meant nothing.

Lisbeth knew she had to save the girl and stop the bastard from taking more. It was obvious to her that Rosalie couldn't have run away-she had no reason to. And Lisbeth didn't put it past Alex to kidnap a random girl to take home.

Alex was more than just a Major Problem. He was a catastrophe. An evil, monstrous catastrophe.


	9. God Help Me

**Thanks to demonbarber14 for beta-ing this and for pointing out certain mistakes after I published this. I chose an Emilie Autumn song for this chapter because I think it's rather fitting. I do not own any song I use, unless I say otherwise, though that's highly unlikely. I also don't own any canon characters.**

* * *

_God help me_

_I don't see how I can live this way_

_And I don't know why he's touching me_

_Won't you shine in my direction and help me?_

_Won't you lend me your protection and help me?_

_God help me_

_Believe me, this wasn't what I wanted_

_But no, I can't leave, he's got me_

_Won't you shine in my direction and help me?_

_Won't you lend me your protection and help me?_

_Am I guilty or am I just waiting around_

_For the tide to come in so the truth to come out?_

_And if I had a dollar for every time_

_I repented the sin and commit the same crime_

_I'd be sitting on top of the world today_

_I'd be sitting on top of the world today_

_God, God help me_

_Just maybe I'll learn to help myself_

_Speak to me, don't leave me, he's burning me_

_Won't you shine in my direction and help me?_

_Won't you lend me your protection and help me?_

_Places, everyone, this is a test_

_Throw your stones, do your damage, your worst_

_And your best, all the world is a judge_

_But that doesn't compare to what I do to myself_

_When you're not there_

_And if I had a dollar for every time_

_I repented the sin and commit the same crime_

_I'd be sitting on top of the world today_

_I'd be sitting on top of the world today_

_Don't make me choose, I've got too much to lose_

_Don't make me choose, I've got too much to lose_

_Don't make me choose, I've got too much to lose_

_Don't make me choose, I've got too much to fucking lose_

_**-God Help Me by Emilie Autumn**_

* * *

She woke hours later in a cold, dark basement on a lumpy mattress**,** filthy pillow and nothing but a thin, pathetic blanket covering her naked body. She was bruised and raw and sore as hell from all the torture Alex had inflicted on her the past few days. He'd raped her, mutilated her, used her, abused her, and did almost everything under the sun that could be done to a person, except murder. All the while, he verbally abused her, too. He called her names like bitch, whore, slut, cunt, everything. He never even let her get dressed after he would rape and torture her.

"Why bother?" he'd replied the first night when she'd asked why he wouldn't let her wear clothes to bed after a long night of being raped. A smirk was fixed on his face. "I'd only tear 'em off again when I came back for pol and ultraviolence."

* * *

Sometimes, after he untied her and finally let her go to bed, he'd sneak back into the basement and wake her up. Sometimes he'd shake her and order her onto the table. Sometimes he'd just put her on the bed himself and wake her up by raping her. Rosalie never got sufficient rest. Not just because of Alex's habit of waking her for his sick pleasure, but also because it was hard to sleep on a mattress with insufficient covering and a tattered pillow. She was fed just enough to keep from starving, and was very undernourished. She lost an impressive amount of weight in just four days. She knew if he kept this up, she'd become emaciated. Her previously shiny, pretty blonde hair was now lifeless and dull. Her body was coloured in bruises and dried blood. She didn't have access to a mirror, but she knew she looked like hell. She sure felt it.

She wasn't allowed to go to school ("Yes, let's release you into the world right where you can escape me. That would be a most excellent idea," he'd said sarcastically after she approached him with the idea), or even outside for a mere moment to get some fresh air.

"And risk you running from me?" he'd asked when she begged him one day.

"Alex, you could keep a close eye on me. I can't run away if you're looking," she'd pleaded.

But he was insistent on keeping her locked up. "Whores like you don't get fresh air. Now get on the table and spread your pretty malenky legs for Uncle Alex."

* * *

One night he didn't wake her in order to rape her, but was in the basement when she got up. Her heart stopped. Was he going to hurt her again? She stared at him, a scared, pleading look in her eyes. She whimpered, reminding them both of a puppy that had been kicked too many times.

"I'm not here to vred you, love," he said, before adding, "Not right now, at least. I messeled you should know they're looking for you. Your em's real worried sick about you."

She looked at him. Was he for real? She wasn't quite sure she could trust him after all that he'd put her through.

"I'm telling the truth, Rosy-Rose," he said, calling her by his new nickname for her. "It's in the papers."

He handed her a newspaper that had MINISTER'S NIECE REPORTED MISSING as the headline. The article was a page long and talked about how her absence had been made known Wednesday, but that the search team had just been sent out that morning.

"They're...they're looking for me?" she asked weakly, her voice full of vain hope.

He smirked at her. He knew optimism when he saw it. "I wouldn't get too hopeful, darling. They won't even think of questioning your dear Uncle Alex. And if they did, I work for the government, so they won't think to search my basement if it comes to that. Which it won't," he said cockily. "You're not getting out of here, love. May as well accept it."

* * *

She expected him to order her on the table with her whore legs spread, but he didn't. He told her he had to get to work**,** but assigned her a long list of things she had to do and clean before he got home from his big, fancy government job.

"This will take all day! What do you need this stuff cleaned for anyway? Your house is immaculate."

"Maybe they got dirtied up between last time you cleanedand right now. You can never be too clean. Besides, it won't take all day if you hurry your pretty ass up," he answered.

"Fine, but can I do it clothed? Even in some stupid slutty maid's outfit? I'm not too sure I want to be fooling around with cleaning stuff naked," she complained.

He backhanded her for her belligerence. "No, of course you cannot. As much as I wouldn't mind viddying you in a skimpy maid dress," he said as he gave her a lascivious leer, "I like you more nagoy and exposed. This is how it is to be. Oh, and one more thing before I'm off**;** I get home for lunch at twelve for an hour**,** and at least half of that stuff on that list better fucking be done and all of it done by the end of the day, or you'll regret it." He gave her a dark look that told her he was very serious. She didn't doubt it in any case. He wasn't the type to make empty threats. He always came through with what he said.

She nodded and he kissed her roughly before finally leaving.

* * *

It's hard to clean when all your muscles are sore from multiple rapes and tortures inflicted on you. So, when she got started and had to move heavy boxes of his records-he had an impressive amount, the majority of them being classical, of course-she cried out from the strain and almost dropped the sizable box on her toe. She put it where it was supposed to, though. Cleaning was less dangerous in her condition, but it still hurt. He had anally raped her all through the previous night. Not just with his dick, but with many other painful things: a Coke bottle, a broom handle, his fist, and a plethora of other things that didn't belong inside her. And now it hurt to bend over, to be on all fours like a filthy animal. She sure felt like one. He treated her worse than one, though. He even treated his (new) pet snake better than her. His snake got five star celebrity treatment compared to what she was given.

Life was miserable. She wished for a miracle, for a white knight to come on a white horse and save her from the hell she was enduring. She didn't know why she deserved this...this torture. No one deserved it. No one. She was never particularly religious. In fact, she was agnostic. She couldn't be sure whether or not there was a God in any shape, size, or form. But if there was God...well, He didn't seem as merciful as a lot of devout religious people liked to say he was, nor did He seem particularly loving. What loving god would allow one of His children to suffer in such a way? A lot of people would jump and say, "Well, He's just testing you to see if you'll remain faithful and loyal or turn away." According to them, she was a modern version of Job. But it seemed like a load of shit to her. Job was never raped night and day, had a sadistic former gang member cut, burn, and demean him. Not that she could recall, at least. And it seemed cruel of God to make her endure all this just to test her loyalty. But still, she pleaded to Him for protection.

"God, if you're there...please help. I can't do this any longer. He's going to kill me one day, I know he will. He'll get bored of me and it's unlikely he'd let me go just to blab to the police. Please, God. If you save me, I'll be loyal."

Sometimes she would curse His name. Sometimes her pleas would get so desperate and loud and pathetic, Alex would wake up and come to her basement and backhand her so hard, she'd pass out and then later he'd punish her brutally for ruining his sleep.

* * *

It was fifteen minutes till lunchtime. She didn't quite have half of the tasks done. Alex would be pissed if he saw her staring off into space. But she couldn't be expected to get down to half in fifteen minutes. What could she do? Suddenly, she got an idea. It was a very risky idea. It could get her in a load of trouble if she failed. But she was desperate; she missed her mother, she missed her friends (even the not-so-sincere ones), she even missed school, she missed getting grounded, she missed not being raped daily, she missed being happy, she missed being treated as an actual human being, rather than a thing to fuck, beat, and mutilate, but most of all, she missed fresh air.

So what did she do? She decided to run. She never was brave before then and she had no idea where the sudden courage came from. She'd run to her apartment and tell her mother she was alive and had been kidnapped by a sociopath and wanted to see him put to justice. It would be risky, she knew. Judging by the time, he was starting to get off work for lunch and if she delayed too long, she'd have to stay. Or**,** if she stalled too long and started to escape, he'd see her and chase after her. Rose shuddered to think of what he'd do if he caught her. She'd never attempted it before, but she knew the punishments would only get harsher, the rapes more violent, and the tortures even more gruesome and grotesque. She ran up to his bedroom and looked around. She knew he still had the velvet blue dress, the last thing she wore before she wound up in hell. When she saw it under his bed, she slipped it on, not bothering with a bra or panties. There was simply no time. He'd be home in ten minutes now.

The next thing she knew, she was running out of his house as fast as her legmuscles could take. It hurt like hell because she was in such bad shape and wasn't wearing shoes. Along the way, she spotted a familiar car; Alex's. She ran faster, her heart pounding. So this is what it must feel like for those girls in horror movies, she mused. Except I'm not looking back over my shoulder every few seconds; it would be stupid and reckless. And I'm careful not to trip over anything.

What she didn't anticipate, though, was that Alex would have a gun. And that he would shoot the back of her knee, causing her to fall to the ground, crying out.


	10. Rose's Big Mistake

**Okay, so I really like this chapter, so I hope you do too. As always, thanks to my beta, ****_demonbarber14_****. By the way, there's a thing about a Swiss Army Knife-I know Alex would use something heavier, more hardcore, but I don't know knives, so let's just stick with that. I'm lazy. :p And busy with my next chapter. Anyway, enjoy. Warning: brutal torture. But I guess you'd know by know this story is neither light nor fluffy.**

* * *

He was realistic. He knew she'd attempt to escape. He just didn't know when. He gave her opportunities so he could see what she'd do, but today was the day she actually attempted (and failed) to flee his clutches. He wanted an excuse to be harsher. No, he didn't really need one, but he wanted one all the same.

He filled his rifle with rock salt and hid it in his car so he could always have it at the ready. When he saw her running past him in her blue velvet dress, her feet bare**,** and she clearly braless, he grinned to himself and parked, shutting off the engine and grabbing his gun. He aimed it at her legs and pulled the trigger, grinning sadistically as she cried out in pain and fell to the ground. The impact of her head hitting the ground knocked her out. He put the gun back and went to her. He was no doctor, but he knew she was going to have a concussion. He also noticed she neglected to put on underwear in her rush to get the hell away from him. He took her behind the bushes and pulled her dress up. This was too good to resist. He unzipped his pants**, **releasing "Alexander the Large", and climbed on top of her. He took off his work jacket and placed it over her face, loosely enough so she could breathe, but he made sure that it would prevent any passers-by from identifying her. If someone came by and saw him raping a girl behind the bushes, they couldn't do anything about it because he was a government employee. He shoved himself inside her, grunting and groaning at her tightness. Of all the tortures he inflicted, he loved forcing himself inside her most of all, loved her tightness and her warmth. He only regretted that she wasn't conscious and he could hear her screaming herself hoarse. Midway through, though, she came to, and when she realised what was going on, she shrieked and struggled as much as she could.

"No! Stop! You can't rape me in broad daylight!" she screamed. "Help! I'm being raped! Fucking help!"

"No one's gonna hear you, and even if they do, they won't care," he grunted.

"They'll care if they realise you're raping the Minister's niece," she shot back, tearing odd his jacket and starting to scream her identity before he closed his hand over her mouth.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he growled. But then Rosalie bit him hard, making him cry out. He retaliated by backhanding her so hard, he broke her nose.

He gagged her with the sleeve of his jacket so he could finish with her. When he did, crying out and coming inside her**,** much to her dismay, he removed the sleeve**,** zipped up his pants**,** and fixed her dress. He pulled her to her feet and she winced in pain because of her injured knee. He glared at her.

"All of this could have been avoided had you stayed put and did your chores," he said, though it was a lie. "I suppose you haven't finished even half of your chores."

She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. Really, I am," she pleaded, hoping he wouldn't hurt her too badly. It was all in vain, however.

"You're a stupid bitch, you know that," he said, grabbing her wrist roughly and dragging her to his car, where he forced her in the passenger seat.

"Please don't hurt me too much," she sobbed. "Please! I know I'm a stupid whore, I know it!"

Alex smirked. Clearly, he'd trained his bitch well. "Yes, you _are_ a stupid whore," he said. "But I can't make promises not to hurt you. You need to be punished after all."

She screamed and tried to make a run for it out his car**,** but he backhanded her so hard she passed out again.

* * *

When she woke up, she was back in his house, in her basement, tied to the torture bed, her legs spread even further than ever. She was aching all over. The back of her knee hurt like a bastard from where he shot her with rock salt and her sex was sore from where he raped her in broad daylight. She had a mild concussion from where her head hit the ground hard. He was standing over her, a wicked smile etched on his face.

"I viddy you're awake now, love," he said eagerly and she groaned, wondering what horrors awaited her now. "Real horrorshow indeed. Now the fun can really begin."

_Fun for him, not for me,_ she thought. _Is he going to rape me again, or has he found some new torture?_

Unfortunately, he had decided on the latter. He'd brought in a tub filled with water and he untied her and forced her to her knees in front of it.

"I have not a lot of time, love, sadly," he said almost regretfully. "However, with the time I do have, this is how I'll be spending it."

Rose heard him unzip his fly and he moved to pull his pants and underwear off. She could have used this as an opportunity to hurt him and escape for her life, but she didn't dare to even blink. The next thing she knew, she was bent over the tub, his cock at her anus. She wondered what he was going to do. Rape her over this tub? He answered her thoughts by forcing her under the icy water, using all his upper body strength to make sure she stayed under as she struggled and held her breath. He raped her anally all the while. When absolutely necessary, he brought her up for air as she screamed and thrashed and gasped for breath, and then he plunged her in for a longer time. The last time he did it, he held her down until she passed out, her limbs going limp. He pulled her out for good this time and carried her to his table, where he strapped her in once more and kissed her cheek.

"Until later, love," he said in a false sweet voice.

* * *

When he came home for good that day, Rose had been awake for some time. She was even sorer than before.

"Have a nice rest?" he asked maliciously, smirking down at her. She wanted to spit in his face, but she was at least smart enough to resist the urge. "Have you completed your chores?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "How could I? You kept me strapped in here," she said.

He shrugged. "You could have found a way out. Desperate whores always find their way out."

"Are you going to rape me again?" she asked, fearing the worst.

"No," he said nonchalantly, catching her off her guard. "No, I've got something else in mind." He took out a Swiss Army Knifeand held it to her face.

"W-what will you be doing w-with t-that?" she stuttered nervously. He grinned and pressed the blade to her skin from her face and dragged it lightly down her body. Finally, it settled between her legs, at her inner thigh, dangerously close to her womanhood.

"I think you still ought to have some more punishment," he pronounced.

"But Alex, you punished me earlier, remember? I'm sorry. I swear to God I am. I won't try to escape again, I promise," she pleaded desperately. "You know I belong to you. I know that now. You don't have to do this. I won't run away or leave you."

"No, you won't," he said darkly. "But just in case you forget, I'm leaving a reminder for you."

He dug the blade into her skin, grinning in sick sadistic pleasure as she cried out in agony. She struggled against her straps to no avail. There was no hope for her. When he was finished cutting an A, he started on an L.

"No!" she cried out. "Alex, please! Alex! I'll do anything! Anything!" She was hysterical. Rose was crying so hard, she could barely see. The pain was relentless and excruciating. He started on the E.

"You're so gloopy, running away like that. Even if you made it far, I would've found you eventually. You know that, don't you? Or are you too sodding stupid to pony that?" he asked. His breathing was laboured. His pants were tight around the crotch. He was so very hard he could barely stand it. But he resisted so he could finish the final letter in his name, X.

She was screaming so loud, she reckoned she wouldn't be able to tomorrow. She wouldn't be able to talk, much less scream.

Finally, he was done. His masterpiece was complete. On her inner thigh, he had carved ALEX into her skin. The blood pooled between her thighs, for once not caused by a rape. He undressed and she gasped when she realised he was going to rape her. Again.

"No! Alex, no! Was I not punished enough?! I learned my lesson! I'll remember not to run! Please! Please! Stop it! You can't do this! You can't!" she yelled. He glared at her. His normally ocean blue eyes becamea dark navy in his vicious lust.

"I can't?" he asked slowly. "I can't, Rosalie? Are my ears deceiving me, or did I just slooshy you say _I_ _can't_ do something?"

When she realised the big mistake she had made, she gasped and quickly backtracked.

"I-I didn't mean it, Alex. It was a mistake, Alex," she said, her body suddenly frozen in terror, her eyes wide with horror.

"Yes," he agreed solemnly. "It was a mistake. A very big mistake indeed."

"P-please, Alex. I'm sorry. I'll do anything. You know I didn't mean it."

He ignored her and put his bloodied knife away and walked so that he was by her head and he leaned down close to her.

"I know, love, you haven't been here very long and so it's hard to get used to a new lifestyle with a new set of rules," he said, mock sympathy in his tone, his voice thick with lust. "But you can't just go around telling your Uncle Alex what he can and cannot do. You are not the Master and Leader here. I am your Master and Leader and even your Bog, right right?"

She nodded.

"I want to hear you say it, love," he ordered.

"Y-yes, you are my Master and Leader and you are also my God," she said, trying not to be too hesitant.

"Good devotchka. But I messel I need to have it drilled into your brain in a way you can pony, since you are so sodding gloopy."

Her heart stopped. He really was going to rape her, wasn't he?

He climbed on top of her. She was sobbing quietly. But she screamed when he rammed himself into her. It hurt even worse than usual with the latest injury**,** and she screamed in agony at every thrust.

He lasted well over three hours. She couldn't walk when it was finally over,even if she'd wanted to, so he just left her on the table. She curled up into a fetal position, weeping softly.


	11. Let the Record Show

**Thank you to my beta, ****_demonbarber14_****, as always. And yes, to answer your question, I ****_love _****Rocky Horror. I don't own Emilie Autumn's songs or any song I use unless I say otherwise (highly unlikely) or any canon characters. They all belong to their rightful owners.**

* * *

_Turning tricks with absent guile _

_Reeling in your crooked smile_

_Why did I turn to you?_

_I only wanted a hand to pour my heart into_

_And now I'll bump my grind through another night_

_Lose my mind in another fight_

_Why did I turn to you?_

_I only gave you the chance to prove the rumours true_

_And now I'm paying with my_

_Paying with my life_

_I'm paying with my life_

_My life, my life_

_So let the record show_

_That you murdered me_

_In your coldest blood_

_With your own two hands_

_Don't think no one understands_

_It happens every day_

_Working life like a burlesque show_

_Get them off and they'll let you go_

_Why did I turn to you?_

_I only turned out to be just one more girl you slew_

_And now I'll bump my grind for another_

_Lose my mind in another_

_Why, why, why, why?_

_I only gave you the chance to prove the rumours true_

_And now I'm paying with my_

_Paying with my life_

_I'm paying with my life_

_My life, my life_

_You're jealous_

_Oh, you're jealous_

_Why it's a simple excuse_

_For a complex crime_

_So write this on your soul_

_Or don't waste my time_

_If I'm going down_

_Then I'm going down good_

_I'm going down_

_Then I'm going down clean_

_I'm going down_

_Then I'm going_

_The prettiest broken girl you've ever seen_

_If I'm going down_

_Then I'm going down good_

_I'm going down_

_Then I'm going down clean_

_I'm going down_

_Then I'm going_

_The prettiest wretched whore you've ever seen_

_But while I breathe_

_I've got no evidence to prove my end_

_And so you'll walk away_

_Nope, wrong again!_

_**~ Let the Record Show by Emilie Autumn**_

* * *

She could remember a time before all this, when she wasn't trapped in the ninth circle of hell. When all she had to worry about was whether her friends actually liked her, rather than worrying about whether she'd live to see another day or about what new horror her Master and Leader and Bog had planned that day. She missed her friends, all of them. She missed her mother. She missed Uncle Fred. She wondered if she'd get out alive. She wondered what would happen then. She was damaged goods; every part of her was, not just her "lady parts," as her mother had liked to call them.

Her mother. She'd be worried sick. And Rose had never known such guilt. She felt as if it were her fault for even going with Alex. But then again...he would have just taken her anyway, right? But still, she had gone out and no one had forced her to go to the Korova. If she wasn't there in the first place, she wouldn't be in this position.

* * *

Katherine Evans, Lucy Hale, Jade Everett, and Priscilla Brown all sat around a table at the library, pretending to study, when in reality, they were discussing in hushed voices Rosalie Curtis's disappearance.

"I think it's all a set up by the government," Katherine said**.** The others looked at her strangely. Katherine had always been into government conspiracies. She'd had a field day with 9/11.

"Katherine, no offence, but that is the stupidest thing you've ever said," Lucy said. "And you've said a lot of stupid shit."

"Well, it could be true," she said defensively. "I mean, he could want more publicity or maybe he wants to make himself pitiable."

"No, Kat, I doubt that's it," said Jade. "Don't be stupid. And don't you dare try to make my friend's disappearance into something it's not!" Jade's voice cracked. Of all four, she was the most affected.

"I'm sorry, Jade," Katherine said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"This whole thing upsets me," said Jade sadly. "I'm worried about her."

The others were somewhat worried, but they didn't care as much about Rose as Jade did.

"I'm sure she's fine," Priscilla said. "She's probably had a row with her mum and she ran away."

"Ran away?" asked Jade incredulously. "I know Rose, and she isn't the kind of girl to run away. She doesn't hold grudges, either, so even if she did run away, she'd be back within an hour. She's been gone for about five days now. Are you mental, Cilla?"

"No, not mad, just cynical," said Cilla. "If I'm so mental, what do _you_ think happened to her then?"

"Maybe she was kidnapped," said Jade. "You know about the Cat Lady Killer, right? I heard horror stories about his days as a gang leader. These thirteen year olds once told me about how he drugged and raped them one day."

"I heard he was reformed," said Katherine.

"That was before he attempted suicide, Kat," said Cilla.

"Well, I heard he'd recently given up crime all on his own," defended Lucy.

"Oh, please, Lucy, nobody like that changes on their own. They have to be forced, via things like the Ludovico treatment."

"Have some faith, Jade," Katherine shot back. "He might have."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he's any good. He never was, he never will be."

* * *

Lisbeth's next move was to search for Alex DeLarge's computer. It wasn't very hard; being the cocky and arrogant fucker he was he had never made an attempt to protect his computer. _Foolish cunt, _she thought. _This damn thing will be his downfall._

He had documents on his computer. Like Rosalie, he had his own computer diary. The first one had the same date as Rosalie's first entry, 10 January 2007.

* * *

_Last night was real horrorshow, O my brother. I went to the Korova after getting domy from my rabbit. I was smottovat for a pretty devotchka to take domy with Your Humble Narrator and give the old in-out in-out to. I viddied this girl-I forgot her eemya, not that it ever matters to me. She had wheat-coloured blonde hair, brother, and mocha-coloured eyes. Her groodies were of average size. No matter, groodies are groodies. I approached her and govoreeted hi hi hi to her. She viddied me and looked all like spoogly of your narrator, which is fair enough. I noticed aloud she was all on her oddy-knocky, that she was, and I ask her why so._

_She was speaking in an American accent and told me she was supposed to meet her droogs, but they had ditched her for lovers. I told her what a pity that was, that a young girl like her should not be on her oddy-knocky. She was an innocent malenky sharp, my brother, and so she blushed and told me I flattered her. She turned serious and told me she knew of me, of my reputation. Indeed, our reputations precede us all. I grinned and confirmed my identity. I asked her where she was from. The ptitsa divulged more information than she should. Not so smart, was she? She said she was from Colorado, in the like United States. Two weeks ago, she said, she and her mother moved here because she has family in England, a very wealthy family. Her mother was met by other fellow mothers who told her em rumours (all true, by the way) about mother urged the devotchka to stay away from Your Narrator, a wise decision. I wouldn't blame her for it. Luckily for me, the sharp didn't listen._

_I gave her my trademark smirks and rubbed her leg and asked her if her em really needs to know everything. She agreed and told me she was tired of her em ruining her fun and holding her back. We govoreeted for about forty-five minootas, give or take, and then I asked her if she wanted to walk with me. She only hesitated for a split second before she agreed. Not that she had much of a choice in the matter, but she didn't know that yet..._

_We talked and I had my rookers wrapped snug around her waist, making sure no scoundrel or rogue would dare take my whore of the nochy. I asked where her domy was and she pointed to a rich like apartment complex. She proceeded to complain about how her droogs didn't like her for her, but for her family's pretty polly and like power. Plus, they thought she was snotty because of her being like bugatty. I passed her apartment and she started to get worried, telling me I'd passed her domy, but I ignored her and kept walking. It was when we got to my apartment flat that she got scared. She saw the filthy graffiti. I started to lead her up the stairs, but she stopped and told me she had to get domy. She struggled away from me as my grip on her tightened. I gave her a menacing look and threatened her. Reluctantly, she went with me and when she got to my bedroom and I locked the door did she start trying to like avoid Uncle Alex. She screamed and ran as far away from me as she could possibly get. I told her not to bother. "I'll fuck you either way," I govoreeted._

_Grabbing her luscious glory-and my, how luscious it was, my brothers-I dragged her kicking and creeching to my bed and tied her up like she was a virgin to be sacrificed. In a way, she kind of was. A virgin sacrifice to Alexander the Large. I ran my rookers around her plott, tearing at her platties and forcing them off, exposing her lovely plott to my like eager glazzies. She horned out as I grabbed her groodies and gave them a dobby squeeze and then I removed my platties as well. I went to put on some lovely lovely Ludwig van and I told her I hoped she liked Ludwig van, though I knew that if she did previously enjoy him, she wouldn't after this nochy._

_I climbed on top of her and made myself panhandled and then tried to take the plunge, but couldn't. So I made her body wet and accept me. I'm happy to say she screamed my eemya so loud all nochy-and it was lovely. She was so sodding tight and hot and wet I couldn't stand it; I moaned as I pushed into her, not giving a damn whether I hurt her. I lied. I did give a damn, because I wanted to hurt her. And I succeeded. And the best part? She really was a virgin! Her kroovy was all over her newly bruised and damaged cunt, as was my semen. She was boo hoo hoo'ing, looking away from your Uncle Alex._

_However, I was not done with her, my brothers, I was just getting started. I gave her the old in-out in-out several times and made her red red kroovy drip all over in places not just her cunt. I made her say very naughty phrases like, "I like your huge cock in my tight pussy, Uncle Alex" or "Fuck me harder, Uncle Alex." You should have heard the way she creeched, brother, it was like music to my ears._

_Oh, it was great fun, but it had to end eventually. At around five in the morning, I had to let her go. She was weeping and wincing and crying out as she put on her torn platties and started to walk away. I, of course, unlocked the doors for her, both of them, and I offered her breakfast, to which she refused. I couldn't blame her._

* * *

The next few entries detailed his gruesome and explicit sexual fantasies. At one point Salander even came across a very violent and detailed in great length entry about her, about what he wanted to do to her if he had the chance. Salander scowled. She'd make damn sure he'd never, ever get that chance. It was written the night he met her, well, he tried to introduce himself and take her home and she escaped him. The next one was really interesting. It was from the day Rosalie went missing, 13 January 2013.

* * *

_Guess who I saw at the Minister's speech? That girl from the other nochy, Rosalie-I know her name now, because she's related to my boss, Fred, the Minister. She'd told me her family was bugatty. She never told me she was related to the Minister. I had some fun with her during part of the speech giving her the in-out with my fingers. She had to be quiet or someone would hear and that would be no good, that wouldn't. So then I went to the bathroom and told her she'd better follow, which she did. I made her pleasure me, and brothers, she was good. I wondered if she'd done this before. And then I took her from behind. She was tighter from behind._

* * *

His next few posts talked about him kidnapping her and taking her to his new home to be his new fuck toy-someone to rape and beat and torture. Salander knew she had to find where he lived so she could not only save Rosalie, but stop DeLarge before he hurt other women.


	12. A Mother's Torment

**Some things you want to know: I did not make the title of this chapter "A Mother's Torment" rather than "My Immortal" because of the negative connotations associated with My Immortal. (Though, that is a valid reason not to.) To be honest, I never even thought of that until it was brought to my attention as to why My Immortal is not a good fanfiction chapter title. I wasn't going to anyhow because I don't like the title. I like A Mother's Torment best, but I also thought the song fit the mood of this chapter so I included the lyrics. (Which I do not own, by the way.) **

**Another thing you should be made aware of is that I'm not 100% sure, but this story will be between twenty and twenty-five chapters and maybe an epilogue. That way, the story isn't too short so that it resolves nothing and leaves loose ends, but that it also isn't too long that I drag it out longer than it needs to be. Besides, if I'm being honest with you, I can't write this story forever. I love it and all and I love writing it, but I just cannot write it forever. I've got other stories, one currently on hiatus and others yet to have been written, to work on and I would like to get to those eventually. I'm not sure when the last chapter will be posted. The next one will probably be in a week or two. I have no idea. That might make the last chapter, at the latest, out mid-summer break or at the end of summer break, basically two weeks before school starts for the 2013-2014 school year, because I have no intentions on still writing this my junior year. I have to move on with my life. I might get the next chapter in sooner because next week I have two and a half (Technically, three days, but I miss a half of the third day because of a doctor's appointment I go to every other Wednesday.) days left and then spring break until April 5th. I mean, of course, a lot of spring break will either have me writing, shopping at my favourite book stores, sleeping in, or celebrating my birthday early. (My birthday is the Friday the week I come back from spring break. I go away to my mom's every other weekend and on break, so I'm going to have an early celebration there, so yeah.) It can't be guaranteed I'll for sure update during spring break. But I will try to have the next chapter up by April 5th. **

**Man, is this a long ass Author's Note. Well, it's okay. I did have some important information concerning updates and how long this story is going to last. So it's acceptable. Until I started rambling. Again, thanks to my beta (and loyal reviewer), ****_demonbarber14_****.**

**Oh, I almost forgot. I own nothing in canon (Alex, Lisbeth, Fred the Minister, the Korova...) or the lyrics I use when I see fit. But I do own Rosalie Curtis and her mother and the plot, so there's that.**

* * *

_I'm so tired of being here_

_Suppressed by all my childish fears_

_And if you have to leave_

_I wish that you would just leave_

_Your presence still lingers here_

_And it won't leave me alone_

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears_

_When you scream I'd fight away all of your fears_

_And I held your hand through all of these years_

_But you still have_

_All of me_

_**~My Immortal by Evanescence**_

* * *

She couldn't fight the frightening thought that it was her fault her daughter was gone-if she'd kept a close eye on her, if she had made Rose talk to her or see a psychologist. There was a parasitic thought eating away at her brain that told her she had _failed _as a mother.

_If you'd watched her better, she'd be safe and sound and happy. This is _your _fault. You stupid, wretched, irresponsible woman. No wonder she's missing. Probably she's dead or in the clutches of a mass rapist. And it's all because of _you. _You should feel ashamed of yourself._

No. She stopped the thought dead in its tracks. No, she couldn't let herself think that way. It was only hurting her. It was in no way, shape, or form her fault. Maybe she should have been more vigilant, especially knowing the reputation of this town for having an abundance of hoodlums, but it wasn't fault her daughter was missing.

Or was it?

* * *

Anne wondered every day since her daughter's initial disappearance whether it was her fault. She was always so lenient with her daughter, trusting Rose not to get herself pregnant or hurt or anything like that. Rose had never been like other teens-reckless and wanting to do whatever they wanted, regardless of the consequences or the ramifications of their actions. No, Rosalie was responsible and cautious and thought before doing anything. Up until a few days ago, her leniency wasn't much of a problem. She still laid down the law like a mother should, not being strict or controlling and allowing some leeway, but also not letting her daughter do whatever she wanted.

Was she wrong to give her that leniency?

* * *

Anne hadn't eaten much or slept much in days. She was falling into a deep depression. Fred was getting rather worried about his sister. Even though he was busy with his job, he came by to check up on her every day, and every day her depression seemed to get worse and was becoming emaciated, her hair was getting duller, her face looked tired, and she rarely smiled-when she did, though, it was forced. The kind of smile that you put on to get your older brother off your back when something's distressing you.

Fred knew this smile. He'd seen it before many a time in his life growing up with Anne; when kids at school were picking on her, when her first crush turned her down, when she was dumped by a boyfriend for the first time. The last time was when her husband, Rose's father, up and left. Unlike all those other times, though, this strained smile was even more forced, even less sincere. Its reason and her real emotions behind it were worse and more troubling for her. So he resolved to make another check this week. He was going out of his own mind worrying for her, hoping she ate, doubting she did. This visit would be unannounced.

"Jane, cancel all my appointments for the next several hours. I've got some family business to attend to," he told his secretary.

She looked taken aback. He hadn't canceled anything in a long time, not since his sister's husband left. "A-are you sure, sir?" she stuttered.

"I know this is rather...unorthodox of me, Jane, but this is a special emergency. You must believe me."

She nodded. "I do, sir. It's just odd, that's all."

* * *

Fred asked to borrow her car so no one saw him. He told himself he needed to give her a raise, and a big one too. As soon as he got to his sister's apartment, he jumped out of the car and went inside to the concierge's desk and asked for his sister. As soon as he was permitted, he ran to her door and knocked. What he saw when she opened the door was worse than he could ever imagine. He didn't think it was possible, but she looked ten times worse today than she did two days earlier.

"Fred?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse from all that crying, but her eyes weren't wet. In fact, they were cold and dead. Numb. Her eyes looked like that of a zombie's, devoid of emotion.

"Hey, Anne," he said, smiling awkwardly at her. "May I come in?"

She nodded and let him in. The room was an even bigger mess than it was before. Whiskey bottles, newspapers, clothes, and other items were strewn everywhere. It was a nightmare.

"Jesus Christ, Anne," he exclaimed, hardly believing what he was seeing. "What the hell happened?"

"Oh, you know, life happened," she said, trying to be nonchalant, as if it were no big deal. But it was-it was a very big deal in Fred's eyes.

"You've let yourself go," he remarked.

"How do you mean?"

"Christ, Anne, take a look at yourself, and your apartment," he said, gesturing wildly around the room. "I get that you're in a crisis, but that's hardly an excuse to not take care of yourself. What if we do find her, Anne, and she sees her own mum in such a sorry state?"

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say, because Anne's eyes flashed angrily. "See me? I highly doubt it, Fred! She's probably dead-if not now, then she will be in a matter of time!" she shouted.

"Don't think like that. We're doing everything we can to find her. We _will _find her, Anne. I promise. They won't rest until they do," he reassured her, though he wasn't quite sure himself.

"You can't be sure of that, Fred," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "My baby girl is gone, and she's not coming back!"

His heart ached for her. "Even if she is...dead, Anne, you can't just treat yourself this way, in any case. She wouldn't want this for you. I know she wouldn't. I don't, either."

"Oh, what's the point, Fred? Why bother anymore?" she sobbed.

"Hey, don't you talk like that!" he yelled. "You can't do this to yourself. Just because you've lost someone doesn't mean you stop living, Anne!"

They looked at each other for the longest time, neither of them saying a word. Finally, Anne broke the silence. "Okay, you're right, Fred. I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Don't you apologise to me, Anne," he said sternly. "Just don't do this to yourself."

"Better said than done," she said grimly.

"Yes," he agreed. "Hey, why don't we go for a walk? That should cheer you up."

She agreed and put on fresh clothes and they left, talking.

* * *

Anne almost forgot her troubles and would have completely if it weren't for the TVs and newspapers she passed talking about her daughter's missing status. But she tried to push that to the back of her mind. It worked for a while, and then she saw it.

Rosalie's blue velvet dress, the one she wore the day she disappeared at Fred's speech. It was torn and blood-stained. It was caught in the bushes.

* * *

**Dun, dun, dun...cliffhanger! Reviews are always welcome and encouraged. Same goes for constructive criticism. **


	13. Asleep

**I really like this chapter. It's the longest one I've ever written, like, ever. Not even in just this fic, but in every fics. So, yeah, I'm excited. The chapter is good anyway for more than just its length. I felt the need for once to get away from Lisbeth's research, Anne's motherly angst, Rose's pain and Alex's sadism and just focus on developing Rose. Speaking of Rose, I've been watching a lot of ****_Doctor Who _****on Netflix Instant lately (I'm on season one of New Who, with Chris Eccelston) so every time I write dialogue that Rose says, I hear Billie Piper's British voice as Rose Tyler rather than an American accent. So yeah. **

**By the way, the song choice for this chapter was inspired by ****_The Perks of Being a Wallflower_**** by Stephen Chbosky. It was a good book. I enjoyed it. Charlie has good music taste. I would have enjoyed it even more, though, if it weren't for all the hype. And the teenage girls abusing the same two quotes. Any way, any one see the movie or read the book? I've yet to see the movie. **

**Also, I don't own anything from canon or the lyrics.**

* * *

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_I'm tired and I_

_I want to go to bed_

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_And then leave me alone_

_Don't try to wake me up in the morning_

_'Cause I will be gone_

_Don't feel bad for me_

_I want you to know_

_Deep in the cell of my heart_

_I will feel so glad to go_

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_I don't want to wake up_

_On my own anymore_

_Sing to me_

_Sing to me_

_I don't want to wake up_

_On my own anymore_

_Don't feel bad for me_

_I want you to know_

_Deep in the cell of my heart_

_I really want to go_

_There is another world_

_There is another world_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well..._

_Bye bye_

_Bye bye_

_Bye..._

_**~Asleep by the Smiths**_

* * *

It started off as a cough. Under normal circumstances, coughing was mostly harmless, but in her present situation, Rosalie was earned a vicious backhand if she did so in Alex's presence. This had happened every day for the last four days/weeks. Poor Rosalie never went to bed without not only her rape and torture injuries, but a broken nose or black eye she received after coughing out of place.

But then, the cough turned into something worse. She got hypothermia. Alex never did take care of her-after all, she was his plaything. Nothing more, nothing less. He kept her fed and hydrated enough to keep her alive and gave her a bed and blanket. That was hardly enough. She started to vomit next to her bed to avoid staining the only thing she could sleep on, which sufficiently pissed Alex off and he made her lick it up with her tongue. Not all the time, though. Sometimes he smeared it all over her naked body and raped her anally and verbally abused her. If she puked when he raped her orally, he'd punch her so hard she'd black out at once.

It happened January 30th. She woke up feeling incredibly cold. She was shivering even more than usual. She complained to Alex about this, which was an exercise in futility, because he merely laughed and told her what a weak, stupid cunt she was and ordered her on the table. But as she stood up, she felt horribly dizzy. She swayed some and had to steady herself against the wall.

"Well, what's the matter with you, then?" he asked impatiently. "Why are you not on the table with your filthy whore legs spread and ready for Alexander the Large?"

"I'm dizzy, Alex," she whimpered softly. Her mind was spinning. What _was _the matter with her? But then she remembered-it was something she learned once in science class a month ago. It felt like years ago. She couldn't believe that a few weeks earlier she was a happy girl, a virginal girl, one whose worries were lighthearted compared to her current ones.

There was something else she noticed-she could not concentrate. Alex was saying something. What was it? _Oh god, he's going to kill me,_ she thought.

"Are you even listening?" he asked angrily. "No, you're not. You're completely ignoring your Master and Leader. Tsk, tsk..."

She backed against the wall as he slowly approached her, his face dangerous and menacing. And when he was a mere three feet away from her, her heart beat rapidly and uncharacteristically, she tried to run from him.

She didn't get far. Not because Alex was faster, but because her dizziness caught up with her and before she knew it, she was on the ground, a sharp pain in her head. It was getting harder to breathe.

He kicked her hard in the ribs. "Get up, you gloopy bitch," he ordered harshly. She did, with some great difficulty.

"Alex, I...I feel weird," she told him. No, not told. She slurred the words, as if she were piss drunk. And her words were unintelligible. They came out as "'Lex, I...I fl wrd." It was a miracle Alex could even make out what she said. As she tried to walk, she felt herself collapsing once more.

Alex was alarmed now. She hadn't been in prime, untouched, and unblemished condition since he'd first captured her. Hell, since he had brought her home to take her virginity. He had raped her, beat her, tortured her, did everything to her that could be done, save for killing her. She wasn't going to look like some kind of beauty queen. But now she was looking far worse than she had before. She was pale, even more so than usual, her breathing was slow. Her pupils were dilated. Alex was no doctor by any means, but he was educated enough to know that his fuck toy had come down with a bad case of hypothermia. And if she didn't get treatment soon, she'd fall into a coma and eventually die. He could not have that. She wasn't ready. There were so many things he wanted to do to her to make her suffer before he tossed her out. But he couldn't take her to the hospital, where people would recognise her. Well...he could. He could say he found her somewhere, naked and infected. He'd be praised as a hero for finding her. But still...he'd have to make up a story as to where he found her and what he was doing there and such. Plus there was the risk she might recover and tell everyone what she'd been through. They might not believe her and maybe she might be too scared of him to tell, but why take the risk? No, he'd try to fix her himself and if she didn't get better, if her hypothermia worsened, he'd take her in as a last resort.

While his inner conflict was raging, she had fallen unconscious. When his mind had been made up as to what to do, he carried her out of the basement, bridal style, and took her to his room. He sat her down and covered her in a light blanket in an effort to keep her warm but not too hot. And then he did something that surprised even himself. He removed his clothing and got in bed with Rose and cuddled her from behind, spooning her. Not in a loving way, mind you, but in a way to share body heat with her. It felt weird. He never cuddled with anyone. He hadn't since he was twelve and still living with his motherand father, still the good, pure, innocent kid he used to be.

Meanwhile, Rosalie was dreaming of a seemingly far away time, a time where she was still happy and her worries were normal teenage worries.

* * *

_**14 February 2005-1:00 AM**_

_She is woken up by voices. Her parent's voices, angry. Her father's voice, desperate and mad. Her mother's, desperate and pleading and furious. What is going on?_

"_You _can't _leave! What about Rose?" Anne cries_

"_What about her?" Stephen asks._

"_You're just going to up and abandon her? Just like that?"_

"_Come on, Anne, you're oversimplifying this, don't you think? She can visit if she wants. I have visitation rights, you know."_

"_She's not going to see you very often when you're in Texas with your whore girlfriend."_

"_Don't talk about Angela like that." Stephen is angrier now. "Just because she had what I needed and you didn't-"_

"_Oh, is that it? I didn't have what you needed? I wasn't good enough for you?" Her mother's voice is shrill. And it breaks. "And a cheap Hooters slut is? I gave you Rose."_

"_You know I don't regret any of this-"_

"_This? You mean our marriage?"_

"_I'm hardly the bad guy, Anne. Don't make me out to be," he says, exasperated._

"_Don't be the bad guy then, Stephen. You know what? I'm tired of fighting you. I've done it for sixteen years. I'm all worn out, to be honest. You want to go, then go. But don't ever come back here again. I never want to see your sorry face. Ever." Her words are final. Stephen sighs. A minute later, fifteen year-old Rose hears the door open and then close again. Another minute later, she hears a car door open and close. She hears footsteps coming toward her bedroom and in the next second, her bedroom door opens, her mother standing in the doorway._

"_Did we wake you?" Anne asks quietly._

"_Yeah, you did," says Rose. "Dad's gone, isn't he?"_

_Anne scowls for a moment, but then her face relaxes and it just looks _sad. "_Yes, sweetheart, he's gone. He's never coming back."_

_Rose knows this already, of course._ "_Why would he up and leave us?" she asks._

_Anne sighs. She isn't quite sure herself. "I don't know. I don't know why your father is the way he is, love. I don't know why he'd choose a girlfriend in Texas over his daughter at the very least. But your father just did."_

_Rose sits in silence for a long time. Finally, she asks, "Do you think he loves me, or ever has?"_

_Anne hates the man she once called her husband, the man who is father of her baby girl. "I'm sure he has. He has his reasons for abandoning us. I'd like to think he loves you."_

_The next day, Uncle Fred flies in from England to help the two cope. He feels sorry but is extremely busy and can't stay for more than two days._

_The next two years fly by. It was hard at first, but Rose and her mother find they can cope fine without Stephen. Rose still misses him like hell once in a while and she'll never stop loving him, but she'll always kind of hate him also for what he did to her and her mom. Anne_ _doesn't regret marrying Stephen because they produced a wonderful young woman together, Anne feels nothing but hatred for her ex-husband. He never said goodbye to his daughter. He just...left. Not even a note or a phone call. Rose never visited. She feels betrayed by him and she feels no desire to meet his girlfriend, if they're still together._

* * *

_**December 26**__**th**__**, 2006**_

"_Rose, we're moving," her mother announces. The sixteen year had just gotten home from her job at McDonald's to find her mother home from work earlier from usual and not only that, but on the living room couch, a serious expression on her face._

"_Moving?" Rose repeats. She cannot believe what she is hearing. "Why?"_

"_This house holds too many memories for me," Anne says, grimacing. "I want to be closer to Fred, anyways. A new, fresh start, Rose. And you've always said you've always wanted to live in the UK." _

_Rose isn't sure what to say. Sure, she has talked about wanting to move to England ever since reading the _Harry Potter _books, but that was to beafter she graduates high school, not when she was still in high school with all her friends._

"_But, Mom, why now? You've never had any troubles with memories before," she finally says._

"_Oh, but I have," Anne corrects her. "I have. It's just...I've never had the opportunity to move before. Before...well, you know...your father used to make the most money and now he's gone and I'm on my own supporting you and I haven't had a lot of money since then. Fred says he's getting me a new job, one that will support us better. We'll have more income. Oh, Rose, I know you don't want to leave your friends, but you'll make more in England."_

_Rose didn't beg her mother to change her mind. She didn't make a fuss. She knew it would be no good. Once her mother's mind was made up, there was no use changing it._

* * *

_**January 1**__**st**__**, 2007**_

_They move into a rich apartment flat. It is big and grand and perfect. The front lobby has a concierge whom you consult if you wish to see someone in one of the flats. Rose is in awe. It's also her birthday. She turns seventeen._

"_Since it's your birthday, love, I won't make you pack today, but you bet your ass I will tomorrow, so be prepared. Now, what do you want to do for dinner tonight?"_

_Later, Rose walks to the music shop, Melodia. She thinks the name is weird, but the place is neat. It sells ice cream and Popsicles and they almost always have the latest records. Or at least that's what a neighbour says._

_As she looks through the rock section, a girl comes up to her, flocked by three others. The other girls look opposed to approaching Rose, but the first girl seems determined to know her._

"_Hi," the girl says, startling Rose. She turns around to see a black-haired girl flanked by three other blonde and brunette-haired girls._

"_Hi," she says slowly._

"_You come here often? We haven't seen you around."_

"_Um, no. I just moved in recently," Rose says. The others don't look happy, but the one who talked to her looks friendly._

"_Oh, I figured. You from America? You sound American," the girl says._

"_Yeah. Colorado."_

"_Cool. I've never been to America. Is it nice?"_

"_It's not beautiful. Not Colorado, at __least._ _But it's fine."_

"_Oh, well, I'm Jade. Jade Everett," Jade says, holding out her hand. Rose takes it._

"_I'm Rose Curtis," she says._

"_These are my friends. That's Priscilla Brown." She points to a scowling brunette, her arms crossed over her obviously fake breasts. "And that's Lucy Hale." She points to a petite blonde, who looks slightly friendlier but not by much. "And that one is Katherine Evans. She can be cool when she wants to be, which, admittedly, is not often," Jade concludes, pointing to a mousy-haired brunette with a UFO t-shirt. She's the only one in the pack who doesn't look even remotely made up. Her face is free of makeup (and smiles) and her breasts were rather small._

"_Well, nice to meet you all," Rose says awkwardly. Besides Jade, who looks friendly as ever, the others say nothing and continue to stare or glare at Rose, like she is a threat._

"_You should hang out with us sometime, get to know us. We can show you around," Jade offers. The girls turn their glares on Jade._

"_Yeah, that would be nice," Rose says. Jade hands Rose her number. They say goodbye and then the group leaves, the other girls bickering with Jade. Rose blocks out their protests._

* * *

_**January 4**__**th**__**, 2007**_

_Reluctantly, the group lets Rose in, and Rose has thefeeling that, apart from Jade, they don't like her. At least Jade seems to be her friend. She is kind and warm and has shown Rose everything, from the weird Russian milkbar, the Korova, to the school she should be attended when winter break is over. All the while, the others just hang back and sulk silently._

_When Rose voices her worries to Jade one day when the others are gone, Jade just laughs._

"_They're always like this with new members. Kat was the newest member before you came along. If you think they're cold to _you_, you should have _seen _how they acted toward Kat, with her conspiracy theories. They were bloody _cruel _to her, the poor thing. But then they thawed and mellowed out after a month or two. They will with you. They're not fans of change, you see, or newcomers. They think they'll be replaced. Cilla's the worst about this. She can be a bitch when she wants to," Jade explains._

"_Yeah, I've noticed," Rose says, grimacing. She remembers an incident where she accidentally spilled Coke on Priscilla's new skirt. Cilla flipped, cussed at her,and then stormed out dramatically._

"_She's not bad all the time, though. She's not a sweetheart, but she can be pleasant. Even kind and generous."_

* * *

_**January 6**__**th**__**, 2007**_

_The day the group learned who Rose is related to was the day shit went down. It happened one night when Anne asked Rose to invite the girls over for dinner._

"_Why don't you ask your little friends if they would like to come over for dinner? I would love to meet them," Anne suggests._

"_Um...I don't know. They might be busy," Rose says hesitantly._

"_Well, call them and see. I want to meet your friends," Anne insists firmly._

_Rose sighs and picks up her Nokia and dials Jade's number. Jade picks up immediately._

"_Rose, hi!" Jade chirps happily._

"_Hey, do you want to come over and meet my mom?" Rose asks._

"_I'd _love _to! Do you want me to bring the others?" Jade asks._

"_Yeah, if they're not busy," Rose answers. _

"_I know they're not. Hang on," Jade says and hangs up. A minute later, she calls back. "So they said they'd love to."_

"_Really? They said that?" Rose asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow._

"_Well...they didn't use the word 'love' exactly," Rose admits sheepishly. "But they are bored and have nothing planned."_

"_Okay, then," Rose proceeds to give the address and tell her about the concierge. "My mother makes dinner at six, so if you could show up at around five-thirty, that would be great."_

"_Okay!" Jade hangs up._

_About twenty minutes later, the girls enter the building_ _and Rose goes to watch as they look around the place in wonder. Well, all except Priscilla, who just looks bored. And then they go up the stairs and knock on the door, which Rose answers._

"_Hey," she says and lets them in._

"_I can't believe you live in a place like this," Jade says. "How can you even afford it?"_

"_My uncle paid for it," Rose explains._

"_Is he rich?" Kat asks._

"_You could say that," replies Rose stiffly._

"_Eh,_ _it's still not as nice as Sandy Mulligan's place," Cilla says._

"_Be nice, Cilla," Jade hisses._

"_You want to meet my mom?" Rose asks and when they all nod, Rose calls out to Anne. "Mom, they're here!"_

_Anne leaves the kitchen and goes to greet her daughter's new friends. "Hello, I'm Anne Curtis, Rose's mom. You can call me Anne, or you can call me Ms. Curtis or you can call me Ms. C. Just don't call me anything rude or mean," she says, beaming._

_They all say their hellos. In half an hour, dinner is done and they all eat, talking about their lives. It's not until halfway into their meal that Anne mentions Uncle Fred._

"_Fred is so generous to give me such a good job and a lovely apartment," Anne says. "We wouldn't be able to afford this without him."_

"_Who'd you say your uncle was again, Rose?" Jade asks._

"_I didn't," says Rose._

"_Well, who is he?" prompts Cilla impatiently._

"_I'm sure you know him," interjects Anne. "The new Minister of the Interior."_

_The girls gape at Rose._

"_You didn't tell us your uncle's the Minister!" Jade exclaims._

"_Why didn't you?" Lucy asks._

"_I figured it didn't matter," Rose says._

"_What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Of course it does!" Kat cries._

"_It does not!" protests Rose. "Not to me, anyway. He's not the Minister to me. He's my uncle."_

_The rest of dinner continues awkwardly . When the girls leave, thanking Anne for a wonderful dinner and saying bye to Rose, Anne smiles at Rose._

"_Well, they seem nice," she says. Rose looks at her mother incredulously._

"_Why did you tell them that?" Rose asks. _

_Anne looks confused, her smile fading. "What do you mean? Tell them what?"_

"_About Fred."_

"_Why? Did you not want them to know about him? They'd find out_ _sometime."_

"_I don't want it to be a big deal. He's just Uncle Fred to me, and that's how I'd like to introduce him to them, if they're my friends that long. Besides, I'm afraid they'll only want to hang out with me for my uncle."_

"_Oh, honey. If they're your friends, they'll like you for you, not for who you're related to," Anne reassures her. But Rose wasn't sure._

* * *

_**January 8**__**th**__**, 2007**_

_It turns out Rose's fears are mostly well-founded._ _Jade doesn't seem to care about who Rose's uncle is, but the others do. After the dinner the other night, the others thawed immediately and have asked to meet the Minister every day since. They always get the same response._

"_No!" she'd cry. "My uncle is a very busy man! What do you want to meet _him _for, anyway? He's just a government official, not Britney Spears!"_

_They always were disappointed._

_Rose is just glad Jade had some sense. When the others weren't around, they would sit in Rose's room and watch _Doctor Who _on the BBC. Jade is a really great friend. Even if the others weren't as terrific as they should be and they are probably trying to use Rose, she still likes having them around sometimes, too._

_When they weren't watching programmes or trying to get Rose to introduce them to the Minister, the girls would hang out at the Korova. It is a weird place, with weird Russian words on the wall. Jade had told Rose that the words referred to the kind of milk the place sold._

"_What do you mean?" she'd asked. "Like chocolate, strawberry, and regular?"_

_Jade had laughed. "No, silly. Like drugs and plain milk. Milk here is actually called 'moloko.'"_

_Rose's eyes had widened. "Drugs? They drug their milk?"_

"_No, they sell plain milk, which they call pure or plain or innocent moloko."_

"_Look, I'm no goody-goody, but I'm pretty sure my mother wouldn't like it if I drank drug-laced 'moloko.'"_

_Jade had laughed. "It's okay. We hardly ever drink drugged moloko ourselves. Mostly gangs drink that milk. It tastes funny. And even if we did, we would never judge you for drinking it plain. Nobody likes a judge."_

_Rose had relaxed then. But she thought the statues were weird. They were naked women with colourful hair-pubic and head hair both-in submissive positions._

"_Hey, Jade, what's with the statues?"_

"_Oh, those? I don't know, to be honest. The bar's been here since the late eighties and there was this story about their origins but it kept getting muddled up in the last twenty or so years. I should tell you about the dialect a lot of people-particularly boys, schoolboys, in fact-called nadsat. It's a mixture of English schoolboy slang and Russian and normal English..." Rose had listened while her friend had droned on and on about the nadsat language._

_When Rose finally gets home, though, it's late._

"_Where have you been, young lady? I was starting to get worried," her mother asks sternly._

"_At the Korova with the girls. It's only nine, Mom," Rose says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes._

"_The Korova? You mean the milk bar?"_

"_That's the place."_

"_I've heard of that from some neighbours. Doesn't it sell drugged milk?" Anne asks, concerned._

"_Well, yeah, it does," Rose admits. There is no point in lying. Her mother will find out anyway. "But they also sell plain milk. I drank my milk pure. I promise."_

"_Okay," Anne asks. "But there's something I should tell you. Today I was out and about and I talked to some mothers. They told me about this criminal, Alexander Burgess, but I think he goes by DeLarge. He used to be a gang member who liked to rape women indiscriminately and beat homeless tramps and steal. He's truly awful." And then Anne tells her about the two young girls she meets at her law firm, Marty and Sonietta, who told Anne that Alex had drugged raped them three years ago, when they were ten, about Alex's killing a cat lady and his subsequent jail sentence that was originally supposed to be fourteen years but he got two when he volunteered for this Ludovico Treatment, and how he was treated after being released into the streets and his failed suicide attempt. The conversation only ends after a warning. _

"_Rosalie, you _have _to promise me you won't go near him," her mother says, deadly serious. "He's not 'cured' anymore and he likes to hang out at the Korova. I've heard he's done very nasty, very terrible things. Promise me you won't even go near him? Ignore him if he ever tries to talk to you?"_

"_Yes, Mom, I promise," Rose says. She doesn't see the point. Most of the stuff are rumours from nosy neighbours who probably didn't know shit about Alex. Marty and Sonietta were thirteen-year-old brats who probably got confused. Did they even know what rape was? The only verifiable thing seems to be Alex's arrest and everything until his hospital stay after his failure to commit suicide._ _Anne can be so overprotective and worrisome sometimes. Maybe that comes with the mother territory, Rose thinks. But she still reassures her mother she'll stay away from Alex DeLarge. It is pretty unlikely she'll ever come across him anyway, and even unlikelier he'd fancy her. But she reassures her mother anyway so she can sleep knowing her daughter would not go off with an alleged killed and rapist._

_How wrong she was, she would find out in the next twenty-four hours. And how she'd soon wish she'd taken her mother more seriously..._

* * *

An hour later, Rosalie stirred in Alex's arms.

Rosalie felt herself being pulled from blissful dream world and into the harsh, cruel, violent reality that was now her miserable life. She expected to be on the cold floor in the basement, or even on the mattress. But she did not expect to be in Alex's room, wrapped up in a nice, warm blanket. She expected even less to be in the arms of her rapist, who happened to be naked.

* * *

**A thing I feel I should clear up: Anne wanted to meet ****_everyone _****in Rose's group. That's why Rose invited everyone else besides Jade. Also it may take a while before the next update. I want to make the next chapter longer maybe.**


	14. Fight Like a Girl

**I'm not too fond of this chapter; it's short and it's kind of a filler. But I hope you enjoy it, even if I don't. I own nothing in canon and everything in canon belongs to their respective owners. I don't own the lyrics; they belong to Emilie Autumn.**

* * *

_My heart is a weapon of war_

_My voice is my weapon of choice_

_An eye for an eye_

_A heart for a heart_

_A soul for a soul_

_We fight for the dream_

_We fight to the death_

_We fight for control_

_There is no such thing as justice_

_All the best that we can hope for is revenge_

_A hostile takeover_

_An absolute rebellion to the end_

_This is our battle cry_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh_

_I'm giving you a head start_

_You're going to need it_

_'Cause I fight like a girl_

_I'll get my revenge on the world_

_Or at least 49% of the people in it_

_And if I end up with blood on my hands_

_Well, I know that you'll understand_

_'Cause I fight like a girl_

_(X2)_

_We are under attack_

_What is the body count? _

_I've lost track_

_If nobody's mentioned_

_How will this end?_

_Then I'll be the first_

_There are more of us than there are of you_

_So show me your worst_

_There is no such thing as justice_

_All the best that we can hope for is revenge_

_A hostile takeover_

_An absolute rebellion to the end_

_This is our battle cry_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh_

_I'm giving you a head start_

_You're going to need it_

_'Cause I fight like a girl_

_I'll get my revenge on the world_

_Or at least 49% of the people in it_

_And if I end up with blood on my hands_

_Well, I know that you'll understand_

_'Cause I fight like a girl_

_(X2)_

_It's so easy to kill_

_This I learned by watching you_

_If I have to, I will_

_It's not pretty but it's true_

_I am through lying still_

_Just a body to be_

_Beaten, fucked, and if I'm lucky_

_Left for dead_

_So who's scary now?_

_No mercy_

_It's a bit too late_

_The game is on_

_'Cause if we've got no honour_

_Then we've got no shame_

_If it's in self-defence_

_Then we will take no blame_

_This is our battle cry_

_Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh_

_Even if you're only a boy_

_You can fight like a girl_

_I'll get my revenge on the world_

_Or at least 49 % of the people in it_

_And if I end up with blood on my hands_

_Then I know that you'll understand_

_'Cause I fight like a girl_

_(X3)_

_**~Fight Like a Girl by Emilie Autumn**_

* * *

When Rosalie woke up after what seemed like hours of dreaming, she at first had no idea where she was. She was naked, but what else was new? She wasn't in a cold, dark basement, though, she was in a room she had never seen. There was blanket covering her naked body, and a better blanket than the one she was used a brief, wonderful moment, she wondered if she had somehow been rescued by a mysterious hero and taken to a better place where she could heal. Alex might have been taken away, or better yet, might have died. She would be safe and sound. She'd have a lot of healing to do, sure, and not just physically; there was a lot of psychological damage to work on. But she'd be alright in the end. She'd be with her mom and her friends would appreciate her more. But then she looked at her surroundings more closely. Erotic paintings. A snake tank with a young ball python. A record player. Classical music vinyl. Beethoven poster. There was even a giant ceramic phallus on a chest of drawers. She was still in this hellhole, only now she was in Alex's room instead of her own. And someone's naked body was hugging hers. She turned and she saw her rapist and torturer and kidnapper. She would have been terrified, and she was, slightly, but she was more puzzled as to how she got there.

"Where am I?" Rose asked, despite knowing the answer already.

"You're in my room, love," he said softly.

"Why? And why are you holding me?" she asked. Her voice was thick.

"You came down with hypothermia, little sister," Alex replied. "Probably would have snuffed it had I waited, or at least had gone into a coma. I couldn't take you to the hospital for obvious reasons. I was holding you because I needed to share my plott heat with you."

"Oh. How long was I out?"

"Only an hour, an hour and a half."

"What now? Are you going to take me back down to the cellar so we can start the process over again? Wouldn't it be easier to let me die next time?" she asked. She regretted it, fearing his vicious backhand.

But his face was calm, his mood pleasant. Well, he wasn't pissed, at any rate. "No, love. I've got something better in rassoodock. I can't keep doing this for fear I might slip up and you snuff it before I'm through with you. That ruins all my fun. So I'll let you stay in the spare bedroom. My em and pee rarely visit, and when they do you'll go back to the basement temporarily. And I never have guests. No one visits me who stays the nochy. Your room will be warm enough. The pillow will suffice and so will the blanket. But don't think this means you mean anything other than a fuck toy now that you've been through hypothermia. You still have to do what I say, when I say it. I will still fuck you when I want to. You are not to lock your door. It's an exercise in futility, as I can easily pick it, and if you do, when I get the door unlocked, you'll be in a world of hurt, worse than the world you've gotten used to. Do you pony?" He was serious now.

She nodded.

He relaxed. "Dobby. I'll let you rest for a while and then show you your new room."

* * *

Salander did not know what to do about DeLarge, how she was going to take him down. She could find out where he lived and set his place on fire. It was a good plan, except for the fact that he has a teenage girl hostage as his personal fuck toy. The only thing she knew for certain was that DeLarge would eventually be stopped. And he was certainly not going to live out his violent rape fantasies about her. She was dominated once by Nils Fucking Bjurman. She was not going to let it happen again.

She wondered about his other victims. Surely the cat lady wasn't the only one killed by him? Salander thought he might have possibly killed more women and possibly men since. And the ones he didn't kill...what happened to them? Did they ever heal? Would they be willing to speak about the horrifying things he'd done, the brutal pain he'd inflicted with an evil, sadistic, twisted grin on his face? She didn't want to bring up horrible experiences, but this could save a lot of lives. She could put a stop to this. This was important. She turned on the news to find a report about how Anne Curtis and the Minister had found the dress belonging to Rosalie Curtis covered in blood and ripped. They took it to mean that Rosalie was dead. But Salander didn't buy it. How do they know she's actually _dead? _They didn't find a body. The kidnapper-that would be Alex-could have torn the dress and make it appear she was dead, to make them stop looking. It was an obvious trick; why couldn't they _see _that? Salander sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, the fiftieth time since the girl had gone missing and Salander made it her duty to not only save the girl, but to save future girls from his grasp.

* * *

Alex had torn the dress a day before Rose's brief hypothermia scare. He then raped her and wiped the subsequent blood off onto her dress. He wanted everyone to think she was dead and therefore the search for her should be called off. He knew they'd still have to search for her body, but he wouldn't even have to hide her anymore, just disguise her. He knew some men at the Korova who would just kill for a chance to have the girl for a night. He could make a good profit selling her body. He didn't like the idea of other men touching his toy and he really didn't even need the extra money, but he did quite enjoy the idea of making the girl suffer more by whoring her out to strange men. He'd have to make her cut and dye her hair and have her go by an alias. There would be an official alias and then there would be nicknames a john would give her. He'd make her put on an excessive amount of makeup-whore's makeup-and wear whore's outfits. Because that's all she was, really. A whore. A pitiful little whore. The only thing she was good for was to fuck and torture. She wasn't even good at oral sex. He had to grab her head and make her head bob to get the technique right, the stupid little bitch.

Yes, the plan was good. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he tells her she's going to be a whore.

* * *

Salander decided on something after a long time. Earlier that day, the radio was on and a song came on. It was that David Bowie song, talking about putting out the fire with gasoline. She looked it up; it was called "Cat People." The last time she heard the song, a few years back, she was on a mission. Now she was on yet another mission. Salander eventually decided that she'd have to use one of her favourite weapons: fire. She just wasn't sure how to go about it. She could find DeLarge's house easily-since he had moved out of his parents' place, he hadn't made an effort to move somewhere discreet and hidden, where no enemies could find him-and give him a nice Molotov cocktail. It was a good plan, except for the fact that she'd kill the girl also. She'd have to find a way to get the girl away and then firebomb his house.


	15. Girls! Girls! Girls!

**Okay, so I like this one way more. It's longer, and more things happen in it. Oh, but be warned: this chapter does get disturbing because of the sex trade elements.**

**For the other prostitutes in this story, we'll learn more about them next chapter. This time, I just wanted to write about Rosalie's first night as a whore. **

**I don't own anything in canon. I don't own the lyrics, which were cut down because this is a particularly long song of Emilie's. It's my favourite song of hers, though, and I do recommend you do go listen. Also it was recently my birthday. Just saying. Enjoy.**

**Also I gave her the pseudonym Mallory as an homage to Kristen Stewart's character, who is a teenage runaway and a stripper/prostitute in ****_Welcome to the Riley's. _****I could have looked up hooker names, but I like the name Mallory and I can't use Sonietta because of reasons which you'll find out in later chapter. I guess it doesn't seem very whorish, but then again, Alex thinks all girls are whores to be used and beaten and fucked and by default, all their names are whorish. And the DuMont part comes from Angel DuMont from the musical/film _RENT_.**

**Fun fact: In the UK, the legal age of consent in 16, which is the age I turned on Friday. Also, prostitution is legal, but not if the prostitute is forced. So technically, referring to the first fact, I could legally move to England with Malcolm and sleep with him. Yay. :3**

* * *

_Come see our girls, crazy girls_

_If you're willing to be thrilled, this is a hell of a ride_

_Those girls, crazy girls_

_They're hot, they're nuts, they're suicidal_

_Ticket's cheap, it's a crime_

_And they're half price after four o'clock, so toss us a dime_

_To see these lovely freaks of nature for a limited time_

_Come see the girls, girls, girls!_

_I've got a lot more words to say, but I just can't make them rhyme  
So ladies, let this be a lesson to you, keep your hair uncut  
Your corsets tight, your morals high  
Your knitting neat, your yappers shut  
This is what comes of over-educating,  
Mentally overstimulating,  
Too much serious conversating,  
Organized religion-hating,  
Sinful over-copulating,  
Marriage without procreating,  
Girl-on-girl caught lesbiating,  
She was caught while masturbating,  
They all mind manipulating,  
Chronically hallucinating,  
Certainly there's no debating,  
Some we just find fascinating,  
Women's rights facilitating,  
Independent thought creating,  
She just may be complicating,  
Get your money out we're waiting_

To see those  
Girls! Girls! Girls!

_**~Girls! Girls! Girls! by Emilie Autumn**_

* * *

Alex perused the shelves in the hair section of a hair salon, looking for the right colour for Rosalie. He was hoping for jet black, having been inspired by Elvis Presley's wife Priscilla, but he would also settle for auburn. There was a very low chance that the johns would ever even recognise her, being stupid and high on moloko, and even if they did, they wouldn't turn him in because they'd be throwing themselves under the bus for soliciting with a prostitute subjected by force, aggravated sexual assault, and raping the Minister's niece. They'd be in a world of trouble. But Alex didn't want to take risks. What if a john brought Rose to a motel and someone saw her by accident? They'd instantly call the police and his life and the john's would be over. Gone would be the days of his protection; he would be locked up in jail for life. Maybe even they'd give him the death sentence.

Soon he found the colour he wanted.

* * *

Rosalie had been instructed to clean the bathroom naked as always while Alex had gone to work. She was assigned only the bathroom for good behaviour, so he told her it had better be "extra sodding sparkling" when he got back. She took two brief breaks since he left-one five minute break for snacking and a two minute break for relieving herself. Breaks were now permitted by Alex. Ever since the hypothermia scare, he also let her eat more and take bathroom breaks in between doing menial chores and being his personal sex slave. The bathroom was fairly clean by now, but she worried whether it was clean _enough _for his liking. If there was even a speck of dust she had missed, she would get a brutal beating and he'd rape and sodomize her harder than ever when he came home for the night.

After twenty minutes of double checking the bathroom, she heard the familiar slam of a car door. He was home for lunch. She took one last look and then went to greet him, which was his usual order.

She opened the door for him; he had his hands full with bags from Walmart and two other places. The second bag read Agent Provocateur and the third bag read Coco de Mer. Those were sex shops. She was rather afraid to see what was inside. Perhaps a new toy he could sodomize her with?

"Hi hi hi, lovely," he said jovially. He took the bags to the kitchen and set them on the table. She shut the door and followed him. "I assume you've gotten my bathroom sparkling clean?"

"Y-yes, sir," she stuttered.

"Good," he said and beamed at her. She wondered what he was up to. He wasn't a brooding person, but he was never exactly this cheerful. Clearly, he had something up his sleeve. She dreaded to find out.

He took something out of the Walmart bag and she was surprised to see black hair colour and makeup, a shit ton of it.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Oh, you'll see," he said cryptically.

Next he reached into the Agent Provocateur bag and pulled out some rather racy lingerie type outfits. One was basically just straps of leather. The Coco de Mer bag had basically the same racy lingerie, plus some pairs of stripper heels and makeup.

She had a bad feeling about this.

"So, yesterday, I got this idea," he started. Her bad feeling got worse. "Now, I'm not too fond at the idea of other men touching my property, but I could make some profit off of this. I've always known you're cut out to be a whore; I may as well get paid for it."

Her eyes widened. Was he insinuating what she thought he was?

"Are you...are you turning me into a prostitute?" she asked, disbelieving. He smirked.

"Yes, I am, little sister," he said.

"But...won't I be recognised?"

"That's what the hair colour and makeup is for, you gloopy bitch." He rolled his eyes. "I'm going to disguise you and you will go under a kind of...pseudonym. Stage name, I guess. You're not going to look like the Minister's niece when you're incognito, I promise you that much." He chuckled darkly.

"Do...do I get some of the pay? Even just 10%?" she asked tentatively.

He laughed loudly. "Love, you don't get 5% of the pay. You're just a whore. You don't deserve pay."

She had expected as much.

* * *

He made her dye her hair jet black and style it in sixties beehive hair style. She applied heavy makeup. Her outfit of the night was a white corset with white stockings. He put on white heels and he made her practice walking around in them because he said it would be "foolish to have a whore not know how to walk in whore's heels." That was the only thing she agreed with him on. She didn't want to end up breaking her ankle. He gave her a trench coat so she could cover up until they got to his brothel. According to him, he had a few other whores there.

Walking out of the bathroom, she showed her outfit to him and he licked his lips in appreciation.

"I like it," he said, grinning. "Perfectly ironic, don't you think? Virginal whore."

After that, they climbed in his car. On the way there, he told her the stage name he picked out for her: Mallory. He said he liked the name. It sounded "whorish" to him.

He took her to a derelict casino type place. Or was it an abandoned old theatre? Either way, it was rundown. Alex parked and shut the engine off and told Rose not to remove the coat until she was instructed to. She walked with him shakily; she was still not used to the heels.

There was a mattress on the stage; it was battered and dirty. She hoped she wouldn't be forced to have sex there. There were five other prostitutes, already in their "outfits," each one skimpier than the last.

"Remember, love, when a john takes you somewhere-a hotel, probably, paid by me, of course-you have to do what he pays for and do it _right. _He's getting his money's worth, you know, and I better not have to refund him if he's unsatisfied," Alex told her, giving her a dark and serious look. "And smile and address the man as 'sir,' do you pony?"

"Yes, sir," Rose said quietly.

"Don't look him in the eyes. You're a whore. He doesn't want to see your fucking eyes; he wants to see your tits. Got it? Now the johns should be here any minute. I want you to go and wait with the other sluts. When my customers get here, you're to strip and dance for them, show them what you got. Since this is your first time, you'll be worth more. Oh, and speak in an English accent, so as to not give yourself away."

She did as she was told, getting on stage. The girls turned to look at her.

"Who are you?" one asked. She had on a short pink slip and matching heels. Her blonder hair was in a ponytail, shiny and beautiful. It made Rose miss her own blonde hair. The girl's face was, like Rose's, covered in makeup.

"I'm...," she said, starting to say her real name and then remembering that she had and alias. "Mallory. I'm Mallory."

"I'm Coco," the girl said. Then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You look like someone from the news."

Rose's heart sped up. "Do I?" she asked innocently in her false accent.

"Yeah, the Minister's niece." At these words, the others looked at Rose.

"Oh my god, she does!" exclaimed a girl wearing a tight corset and fishnets, whose eyes were outlined in thick mascara and eyeliner.

"Wow, that's funny," said Rose nervously. "I can't believe what happened to that girl! Her dress torn and bloodied...her mum must be devastated."

"They haven't even found the body yet," Corset Girl added.

And then the johns showed up. They looked about forty-five to fifty years of age and wore wife beaters under their jackets. Rose surpassed a gulp, but just barely.

"This your first time?" Corset Girl asked. Rose nodded. "Don't worry. You'll get used to it. Just close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else. Find your happy place."

Rose smiled at the girl. She realised she wasn't the only one being victimized-maybe not even the only one hurt by Alex. This girl, and maybe the others, was being forced to sell herself. Maybe for money, maybe for food, whatever. Or maybe for some bastard's sick pleasure. Either way, Rose was not alone.

"Hey, I'm Chloe," Corset Girl said.

"Mallory," Rose responded.

And then she was instructed to remove her trench coat, revealing her outfit underneath. The girls all positioned themselves in seductive poses and were instructed by Alex to dance seductively, writhing and running their hands down their bodies.

"You lot are familiar with Coco, Chloe, Michelle, Lavender, and Angel," Alex started, climbing on stage with the girls. He was wearing a pinstriped suit and had his old cane he'd always had and his faithful bowler hat. "But now, we've got ourselves a new whore, Madame Mallory DuMont. Don't let looks deceive you, brothers. She may _look _sweet, innocent, and pure, but she is just as wanton as these other lovely harlots." At this, Rose started to bat her eyes seductively. She hated having all these old men's eyes on her. No, not on _her_. On her tits, on her crotch, and her asds when she occasionally turned around. She was a piece of meat, a body to be beat and fucked. She was worthless. Except not really. She had a worth, but not the kind she wanted. She was reduced to a price, something to be sold and used and consumed.

"You all know the prices for these lovely ladies, and most of you know how it works. The price of each sexual act depends on the person. For instance, Chloe here is worth a pound every five minutes for a lay. She's worth two pounds five minutes for a blowjob. Things like that. The kinkier and more outrageous the sex act is, the higher the price. Anal sex, for Chloe, is forty-five pounds for five minutes. Now, to discuss Mallory's prices," he continued. "Because she's new and in such high demand because of this fact, she is five pounds a lay; ten pounds a blowjob; ten pounds a handjob; fifty pounds to fuck her in her tight arse; fifty-five for bondage; sixty for whipping; sixty-five for mutilation; sixty-nine for the sixty-nine position." He snickered at that. "Seventy for heavy BDSM shit, and so one. Anal fisting, pissing, shitting, roleplay and shit like that are around 100 to 300 pounds, depending on the specifics. And the higher price you pay, the more sex acts you can do with her, the longer you get to have her, and the nicer the room you get to have her in. I know it's a little steep, but she's new and in high demand. However, I cannot allow anyone to have her more than six hours. Again, she's high demand, and it is a general rule for all prostitutes. Also, having no protection costs you extra, since I'm the one who has to make sure she hasn't caught anything, the silly little slut." At this, he slapped Rose's ass.

Rose hated hearing the prices. She felt like a cow being auctioned off. She hid her misery behind a beaming smile, as if she were glad to be there, glad to have her body displayed for the world to see and for men to grope and fuck for a price.

"Any takers? No? Well, let's viddy what these lovely sharps can do. Ptitsas?" As if on cue, the girls all jumped off stage and approached the now sitting men, giving them lap dances. Rose remembered the first time she was taught to give Alex a lap dance. It was the first week he had kidnapped her. He had yelled and sodomized her with a glass Coca-Cola bottle every time she fucked up.

* * *

It took forever, but the auburn haired girl named Angel was auctioned off for an hour lay at 600 pounds, Lavender, a blonde girl in a lavender slip, was sold for a ten minute blowjob, and so on. Finally, Rosalie was bought by a man named Arthur. An hour lay, plus a blow job and an hour of anal sex. It all came down to 3, 610 pounds. With some extra pounds in case he had left any bruises or marks.

The man grinned at her as she put on her coat and prepared to leave with him.

"You have fun with this one," said Alex, grinning sadistically at Rose.

"Oh, I will," Arthur assured him. She rose with him in his shitty little car to a shitty little motel room-he'd already spent enough on her as it is. On the way, his hand clamped on her thigh hard enough to leave a light bruise.

Her heart was pounding when they arrived and he led her to his room. She remembered Alex's warning: _Smile. Don't look a john in his eyes; you're a whore, not a fucking human being. Act as if you're happy to be there._ She grinned as she entered his fucking shitty hotel room, which rank of feces and piss.

She removed the coat and laid on his bed seductively. "What do you want to do first, sir?" she asked in a husky tone.

"You know, I'm thinking I want my cock in your pretty little mouth first, whore," the man said.

She moved to undress, but he stopped her. "No, don't. I don't want to have you undressed quite yet."

He had her on her knees in front of him. He unzipped his pants and took his them and his boxers off. He grabbed her hair and forced his cock in her mouth. He tasted disgusting. Her gag reflex wasn't all that great, but he forced her to deep-throat him. He lasted a good ten minutes, bumping and grinding and grunting her false name. When he came, he forced her to swallow his seed, which was the worst thing she had ever tasted. But she licked her lips as if his come was a delicious dessert.

"Get up," he told her roughly, which she did. "Strip for me."

She did so, slowly, so as to arouse him. He licked his lips watching her and she could see his cock grow hard once again. She repressed a shudder. And when every article of clothing was on the floor, he reached over and groped her breast. She wanted to grab his arm and force it off of her, but she couldn't. It wasn't the smart move.

"Such a pretty, young thing," he cooed. He looked at her body, his breathing becoming laboured. He reached down and grabbed at her crotch. She whimpered in pain. He licked her cheek. He shoved her onto the bed and forced her legs open. He undressed completely and climbed on top of her. He was heavy. "I wonder how fucking tight you are," he sneers in her ear, licking her neck.

He didn't even bother to inch his way in. He slammed his cock in her cunt and she screamed out. He moaned in her ear about her tight cunt, how she was so warm and hot, and how he was going to destroy her pussy. Being raped by Arthur was unlike being raped by Alex. Alex was more brutal. Arthur's raping was violent, sure, but he wasn't as sadistic as Alex. It was his weight on Rose that was the worst part. She could hardly breathe with him on her chest. She had to force herself to moan his name while he moaned her alter ego's name. All the while, silent tears fell down her face, especially after she remembered she was going to have to let him rape her anally for an hour as well. After sixty minutes of hell, he finally gave one final hard thrust and a loud grunt, pulled his cock out, and spilled his seed onto her stomach.

"You know, you look so beautiful like this, covered in my come," he said, leering before flipping her onto her stomach. He forced her onto her hands and knees and positioned himself. He went in dry, much to her dismay. This time was even worse. He squeezed her breasts. Hard. He had to choke back sobs of misery and agony. She wanted to die. The only good things were that he was no longer hindering her breathing and that it would be over eventually.

When he came, he did so on her back after fifty-six minutes of heavy thrusting. He laid beside her, panting, sweaty, disgusting. Rose resisted the urge to curl into a ball and cry. Instead, she redressed, all the way to her trench coat, and waited for Alex to come pick her up. She prayed to whoever was in charge that he wouldn't rape her that night either.

Of course, as of late, all her prayers were left unanswered, ignored.

* * *

Alex came by at exactly four minutes after Arthur finished. When he knocked on the door, Rose was waiting faithfully.

"I trust she was good to you?" he asked the john, who nodded,

"Yeah, you were right. She was tight as hell. But you ought to have her work on her blowjob technique. The bitch can't suck dick right. But that should be fixed easily, shouldn't it?" the john said.

"Yeah, I reckon it should," Alex replied, giving Rose a dark look. "Ready to go, my pet?"

"Of course," Rose said in a falsely sweet tone.

* * *

At his home, the nightmare didn't end. After he forced her to wipe everything except her lipstick off her face, he made her fellate him all night. By the time he was satisfied, her jaw was locked and sore and she could taste both Alex and the john. She couldn't even cry herself to sleep.


	16. The Movie in My Mind

**Finally done. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting a month-a ****_month_****-for the next chapter, but a lot of things happened: writer's block, I was in a small one-act play, my stepmom had a baby, (His name is Sam and he's a week old and so adorable!) and I had end-of-course tests, which are week long and stressful. Though, they were easier than I'd thought they'd be, even the algebra one. Plus there are some extra personal worries (not personal personal, but TMI girl stuff) on my mind. So, to summarise: life happened and wouldn't let me write. Anyway, I've big plans for this fic and I can't wait to get them written down. And I promise I won't be too long this time.**

**Thanks, once again, to my faithful beta****_ demonbarber14_****.**

**Of course there's my usual disclaimer: I own nothing canon and I don't own any lyrics unless otherwise stated, which will never happen as I suck at writing lyrics.**

* * *

_They are not nice, they're mostly noise_

_They swear like men, they screw like boys_

_I know there's nothing in their hearts_

_But every time I take one in my arms_

_It starts_

_The movie in my mind_

_The dream they leave behind_

_A scene I can't erase_

_And in a strong GI's embrace_

_Flee this life, flee this place_

_The movie plays and plays_

_The screen before me fills_

_He takes me to New York_

_He gives me dollar bills_

_Our children laugh all day_

_And eat too much ice cream_

_And life is like a dream, dream_

_The dream I long to find_

_The movie in my mind_

_I will not cry, I will not think_

_I'll do my dance, I'll make them drink_

_When I make love, it won't be me_

_And if they hurt me, I'll just close my eyes_

_And see, they are not nice, they're mostly noise_

_The movie in my mind_

_They kill like men, they die like boys_

_The dream that fills my head_

_They give their cash, they keep their hearts_

_A man who will not kill_

_But every night again it starts_

_Who'll fight for me instead_

_He'll keep us safe all day_

_So no one comes at night_

_To blow the dream way, dream_

_The dream I have to find_

_The movie in my mind_

_And in a strong GI's embrace_

_Flee this life, flee this place_

_A world that's far away_

_Where life is not unkind_

_The movie in my mind_

_**~The Movie in My Mind, Original London Cast of **_**Miss Saigon**

* * *

So it went, day after day. Prostituting under the name Mallory DuMont, Rose had been forced to sleep with at least one john a day and then with Alex when the night was over. The customers weren't all dirty old men. Some were handsome young men, which made it worse because of their stamina. Some of her clients were even women. She recalled one night when she was taken to a fancy hotel by a beautiful woman in her late twenties named Camilla. Camilla made her perform cunnilingus on her for an hour. And then Camilla fondled her and performed oral sex on Rosalie, making her come, making her feel ashamed.

The only good thing that came out of this was her small friendships with the other prostitutes. They all were forced into it, either by Alex directly, or by another pimp who had sold them to Alex. Coco, whose real name was Jean, was brought in by a burly Russian named Vladimir. Vlad came by every so often to buy some of their services-often both Coco's and Rose's at the same time. And then there was poor Chloe, who had been a forced prostitute since the young age of five. She was twenty-five now. Her real name was a mystery, as Chloe didn't reveal it and had no intentions of doing so. She was bought from her own father by Alex a month ago. Angel's real name was Audrey and she was one of Alex's own whores. Poor Audrey, once foolish enough to believe he could ever love her. Foolish enough to believe he needed the money and so she had to strip for him, just for a bit. Then again, Rose herself was foolish enough to believe rumours about Alex were untrue. Sometimes Alex would have Angel with him when he picked Rose up after a long night of fucking clients. Then he would take the two back and make them have sex while he watched and stroked his cock and then raped them both. Lavender also was one of Alex's own. They first encountered each other three years ago, when Lavender, at the age of fourteen, met him in Melodia. From there he took her home and raped her for four hours. Her mother didn't believe her when she said she was raped and was grounded for being out later than her curfew. Ever since he'd sneak back to rape her, threatening to rape and kill her mom if she didn't shut up, eventually capturing her. At one point, Rose admitted to them that her name was an alias but she could not disclose her actual name out of fear for her safety. They understood, all of themhaving faced the brutal and sadistic wrath of Alex before.

As time went on, Alex's sex trade grew larger until it turned into a mainstream business, which Alex called The Temple of Venus. This meant that rules were stricter. The girls had never been allowed to express their misery, but when his business grew larger, Alex told them all if they ever told anyone about being forced prostitutes, he'd rape them with knives until they bled to death slowly.

The business's getting bigger also meant advertising and decorations for the new brothel were in order, so Alex had them all come to his place to take pictures.

He had them strip to their lingerie and pose in sexually suggestive ways, in order to make their best assets look even more appealing; they were posed bending slightly backwards and pushing their breasts out, lying on their backs with their legs in the air, or bending over double, smiling at the camera from between their legs. Some girls were topless and others were fully naked. Rose was in silk boy shorts and was posed standing up with her legs spread and her hands just barely covering her breasts. Her face was alluring, seductive, with the eyes narrowed and the lips slightly parted. The pictures would hang inside the brothel, decorating the place. There were signs on the outside that they posed for too, essentially the same poses, only more covered up. By law, the girls had to be at least semi-dressed. Of course...Alex was above the law now, so the girls were still naked, though their breasts and crotches were blocked by text, which read

_**CHECK OUT THESE LOVELY YOUNG DEVOTCHKAS AND THEIR LUCIOUS BODIES! FOR A CERTAIN FEE WE CAN ARRANGE AN INTIMATE ENCOUNTER! ACCEPT NO LIMITATIONS, MY BROTHERS! THERE'S NO OTHER PLACE LIKE THIS! WE'VE THE VERY BEST IN CALL GIRLS! THEY'RE EAGER AND WAITING TO SERVICE **_**YOU!**

Below, there was a note that included contact information to discuss prices for the girls or to reserve them for special occasions-birthday parties, bachelor parties, etc. The brothel, finished in four weeks, resembled a fancy strip club, with red velvet lining the walls. It had a stage, much like a strip club, but without the poles. There were rooms in back so the clients didn't have to bother with going to hotel rooms, and so Rose and the girls didn't have to bother with coats any longer. There were even rooms specializing in certain kinks...a room full of mirrors for johns who liked seeing themselves fuck a prostitute...a bondage room...a spank room. Of course, there were normal rooms, too. And they all had toys and lube in them if the patrons wanted them. The johns were required to wear a condom (or be on some form of birth control if the customer was female) and to have been tested for STDs. Likewise, Alex set a rule stating the girls were required to see a gynaecologist every month to get tested for any venereal diseases and to be on birth control. If they somehow got pregnant, they had to get an abortion. Some of the prostitutes, with Alex's permission, got their tubes tied so they did not have to worry about pregnancy. Rose, however, wasn't allowed, maybe because he'd hope he'd get her pregnant, as an excuse to be her up more; as if he needed one. Not that she had any desire to; she wanted to have kids someday if she ever escaped Alex, though her hope was somewhat diminished and had been for a while. Alex always raped her unprotected and his status on venereal diseases was painfully unknown to her.

The new place was where the derelict casino used to be. When business opened, it became packed. The girls had to strip and strut and writhe around the stage, looking as if all they wanted in life was to please their customers and make them come, when in reality the girls wanted the hell out of the bordello.

Alex's punishments grew harsher when the new bordello was built. If a girl didn't satisfy a customer right, the next night, she was taken on stage and "punished," aka brutally sodomised by the others with random objects like dildos or bottles in front of the john she had the previous night. And after that, he or she got to take her to a room to fuck her again for free this time. Rose had never been subjected to this, but she did have to sodomise the other prostitutes many times. Once she sodomised poor Chloe, which was the worst. She figured Chloe hated Rose for raping her. She certainly refused to talk to or look at Rose for a fortnight after.

* * *

_**May 1**__**st**__**, 2007**_

_Chloe has gotten done being fucked anally by a man called Martin. At thirty-five, Martin has a sadistic and brutal streak that can easily rival Alex's. After four hours of one of the worst rapes in her twenty years of prostitution, his time finally up. They put on their clothes, Chloe trying hard not to wince or sob. Martin had been rough, raping her deep and hard, grunting. He had also raped her hard digitally, scraping her inner walls to the point where she worried about having cuts inside her that could potentially get infected. She wipes the tears from her face, hoping he doesn't see them. She made sure to hide her misery. You're not supposed to let them see you cry. You're supposed to be happy to let strangers fuck you as brutally as they wish. As they leave the room, Chloe thanks Martin for fucking her good and hard, like she's supposed to. He grins sadistically at her and goes to pay Alex, because, of course, the whore can't handle the money. She walks to her dressing room to get changed for the end of the night. Finally, she gets to go home. But then, just as she gets her pants on and buttoned, Alex walks in the room._

"_Can't you wait until I'm done changing?" she asks, frowning._

"_I could, but I don't want to," Alex says, smirking and reaching out to grab her breast and squeeze it hard, earning a yelp of pain from Chloe. But then the smirk fades from his face._

"_What do you want?" she asks._

"_I'm going to ignore you talking to me like that because you're in enough trouble as it is," _

"_What?" she asks, shrinking back from him in alarm and panic. "What did I do?"_

"_Mr. Martin told me how it went between you and him. He says that although you were deliciously tight, he feels that you did not seem too happy to please him. Therefore, his orgasm wasn't as enjoyable as it should be."_ _She wonders if he's really all that mad._

_Chloe gasps. "That's impossible!"_

_Alex laughs humourlessly. "Not enough, apparently. I will pick you up earlier than usual tomorrow and take you here. Martin will be here also. You will be punished in front of him by your fellow whores and when the hour is up, he will take you in the same room for a repeat performance and this time, you had better act like you want it more than anything." His voice takes on a sinister edge._

_Chloe nods. She's never been punished like that. She knows it will be humiliating and painful. She dreads it. Alex leaves with Rosalie. Chloe leaves for her dingy apartment, which is bugged by Alex so he can see what she's up to at all times._

_When she gets home, she gets in the shower, turning on the hot water, and sobs. She's heard horror stories about terrible it is, not only the obvious pain of being raped, but also being watched and having it done to you by the only people you could trust because they're as forced into this ordeal as you. It's just as horrible to be the one raping; you feel like a monster and you want to die. You have raped someone, albeit unwillingly, and caused them pain, both physically and psychologically._

_And now she is going to be on the other side._

_The shower lasts until Chloe realises she's used up all the hot water. She turns off the shower, wraps a towel around her naked body and steps out of the shower. She looks into her mirror after unfogging it. She contemplates smashing it and slitting her wrists to avoid the morning. It would be painful, yes, but would it be even more painful than what's to come? She heard death this way was rather slow and painful, bleeding to death on the cold bathroom floor, but eventually it would be over. Her torment would end, finally. She decides against it, though. What if she somehow survives, just barely? Alex might be furious she tried to do herself in. She dries her hair and puts on a short white nightgown. Alex only allows short, see-through nightgowns, or, better yet, nothing at all. Sometimes he breaks into her apartment to rape her. Well, it's_ _not breaking in. He has a spare key. It's technically _his _apartment, after all. She hopes he won't do this tonight. She already has to deal with her punishment in the morning._

_It turns out he doesn't. She barely gets any sleep, though, and when she does, she has a terrible nightmare about the hell she's facing._

_**May 2**__**nd**__**, 2007**_

_Chloe gets out of the bed, having barely slept, and takes a cold, quick shower and changes into her whore's outfit, a flimsy lingerie-type deal, which is basically just strips of fabric. She's more than apprehensive; she's downright scared witless and again she contemplates suicide-if not by slitting her wrists, then by jumping out the window. Her apartment is on the fourth floor, it may very well do her in if she jumped. She decides against it._

_She puts on her makeup and then leaves. She might be early. But the sooner she gets there, maybe the more merciful they'll be. As she walks, she sees magazine stands featuring a celebrity's breakup and how "devastated" the woman is. _Well, her life is rainbows and sunshine compared to mine,_ Chloe thinks bitterly. _Of course...her life is easy compared to most people's, even the ones who are mostly happy and content with their life and don't wake up thinking about offing themselves because they have nowhere to turn to.

_In ten minutes, she sees the dreaded brothel, it's garish and gaudy flashing lights, and lewd, objectifying signs. She walks somewhat slower, but not slow enough to be late. Eventually, though, she finds herself at the door of the bordello and forces herself to open it._

Like ripping off a band-aid,_ she tells herself. _The sooner you get it down, the sooner it's over with.

_Little does she know how wrong she is..._

_When she enters the whorehouse, it's not packed yet, in fact, it's barren of any horny perverts wanting to rape poor girls for a fee. There is just Alex and the others on stage, the girls scantily clad as per usual. Alex has a smirk on his stupid horrible face. The girls all have varied expressions, ranging from pitying to guilty and remorseful looks. Somehow the girls' expressions are more unbearable. She averts their gaze and looks down at the floor when she approaches the stage._

"_Welly welly well," he sneers. "Just in time. Go get undressed-you won't be needing those clothes."_

_She does as she's told, going onstage and stripping naked. She walks to the stage nervously. She's never been naked onstage. She's always had at least some article of clothing always. But not today..._

_As she gets to her destination, she notices a chain that hadn't been there before. It is hanging from the ceiling and has two cufflinks that she guesses are supposed to hold her hands together. She tries to take her sweet time, but Alex yells at her to hurry up, which she does, much to herown dismay._

_The girls grab her and force her wrists together behind her back; they're securely tied in the cuffs, leaving her dragging on the floor._

"_Okay, love, Mr. Martin should be here any second now to viddy you get punished. I'll let you hang here for a few minootas, but the second he walks through those doors, you're up on your nogas with your pretty little legs spread," Alex says._

_She looks at him and nods. They don't have to wait long. Two minutes after Alex gives his instructions, Martin walks in._

"_DeLarge, this had better be worth my time," he says, though he has a hint of a smile on his face._

"_Of course, brother sir. Chloe is just _dying _to make it up to you," Alex says._

_Chloe gets up and unwillingly spreads her legs. She sees the Martin bastard lick his lips, as if she is a piece of meat on display._

_But then again...isn't she?_

_A piece of meat, that is what she is. To be sold and bought. But this is no real surprise to her. She's been choice meat her whole life, basically._

_Next thing she knows, the others are pulling her mouth open and forcing a gag ball into her mouth. Two girls hold her legs wide apart. She looks to her left and sees Rose with a Coke bottle in her hand and an apologetic look on her face. To her right, Chloe sees a jar of lube and Angel dipping her fist in it._

_Her heart rate speeds up and the next twelve hours are hell. First, she's raped on stage for four hours. Then, Martin takes her back and rapes her for eight more hours; those last hours are the hardest because she has to smile like she's into it and moan and fake her orgasm. She wishes she would die._

* * *

Rose wondered what Chloe thought of her. She felt so miserable after raping her. But it wasn't her fault, right? She was forced into this by Alex. Rose hoped her feelings of guilt would subside and that Chloe would forgive her. Rosalie longed to forget it.

* * *

It was the 8th of May when Rose felt something she had not felt in months: hope. And it was triggered by something she'd never thought could happen; Alex slipped up. It was something so unforeseeable, so unfathomable. He was so careful, so precise and smart and clever. So when he fucked up, when a crack in his oh-so-flawless plan showed its ugly head, of course she secretly rejoiced.


	17. The Salander Interviews: Marty Stewart

**Hey, I've remade my fanfic blog, a-rock-n-roll-suicide, on tumblr. So if you have one, follow it so you can be updated. I'm on summer vacation now, so I have more free time for writing, so maybe expect the next chapter within two weeks.**

**Okay, so originally I was going to have a chapter for Sonietta as well, but I have decided she'll come into the story later. Not long, of course, because I need to start wrapping up my story here soon.**

**Also I've discovered a fic worse than _My Immortal_. *gasp* Yes, it's _that _bad. Okay, the spelling and grammar is better-and by that, I mean it's not completely butchered, just beaten up some. It's like being beaten up compared to being chomped up and grounded. Still sucks, but much less so. But what it makes up for in the spelling/grammar department, it sinks lower story-wise. It's called _Justin Bieber Daughter Abuse Story_. It's by PeaceLoveBieber. She-I'm assuming it's a she-is still on here, and she has other fics on here, but the abuse story has been taken down a while ago and I couldn't find where to read it past the first chapter besides bits and pieces read to me by The Fanfiction Critic on YouTube, which I can't link on here, but search "Justin Bieber Daughter Abuse Story" on YouTube and you'll come across it, specifically the Fanfiction Critic one. My Immortal was bad because Tara Gillesbie (sp?) mutilated the English language and raped the Harry Potter canon, but PeaceLoveBieber totally ups the ante in terms of fic shittiness. The story is one of those real person fanfictions (one of many reasons it was taken down-RPF is against FFn's rules.) starring Justin Bieber, the Jonas Brothers, and Taylor Lautner, plus the titular daughter of Justin Bieber. I forgot her name, but if you watch the video, you'll learn. Basically, the girl is Bieber's sixteen-year-old daughter. She has a boyfriend, who is Taylor Lautner. Now, Taylor Lautner is two years older than Bieber. If Bieber had the girl at age twenty-five (it's not mentioned), sixteen years later, he'd be forty-one, which would make Lautner forty-three. So unless her boyfriend is forty-three year old Lautner's son, Taylor Junior, and it does not appear to be the case, she is dating a forty-three year old man, and Bieber either doesn't notice it, or doesn't give a shit. A-plus parenting there, JBiebs. Her uncles are the Jonas Bros. Uncle Nick is her favourite. Uncle Joe, get this, _sexually abuses _her. And how this the narrator, the titular daughter, admit this? Does she act all traumatised about it? Is she having bad PTSD? Nope. She's all flippant about it. She says it doesn't matter. She's used to it. Maybe I'd admit this may be a mentality a lot of victims have, except that she acts perky. So yeah, this fic is the worse piece of shit in the history of shit. It's tasteless, it's crude, it's offensive, it's horrible. MI was so bad it's good, though is small doses. This fic is just god-awful. It's not so bad it's good. It's just _bad. _Oh, did I mention there's a graphic molestation scene between the daughter and Joe Jonas? Yeah. Of course there is. Because we totally needed that.**

**God help us all.**

**Once again, thank you to my beta, _demonbarber14_, and I own nothing canon.**

* * *

Lisbeth Salander looked around the music store, Melodia. She wondered whose idea it was to call it that. Melodia. What a stupid fucking name. She had to be there, though; she knew it was a prime spot to get information on DeLarge. She remembered that Curtis's diary had mentioned two girls: Marty and Sonietta. She had done some research, looking up their names in the country's citizen registry and finding their pictures. They were thirteen now, ten when they were drugged and raped by Alex. But there was no report of him raping any ten-year-old girls in his criminal record. Perhaps they decided not to file a report. A lot of women never go to the police after being raped, herself included.

She looked around and saw a girl she presumed to be Marty: she was the right age, with the same dark, shoulder-length hair, wearing a striped sweater-dress. She was looking at the pop records and licking a phallus-shaped Popsicle, which Salander found mildly disturbing. She walked up to the young teen and tapped her on the shoulder. The girl turned and her eyes widened when she saw the odd-looking woman.

"Are you Marty Stewart?" Salander asked.

"Yes," the girl said slowly. "Yes, I am. And what is it to you?"

"Long story, I'll explain all of it soon. But I'm on what you might call a mission, and I think you would be of use," Lisbeth explained.

"Me?" the girl said incredulously. "What do you need me for?"

"I told you, I'll explain shortly," the older woman said, rather impatiently. "Come on."

She saw the girl hesitate, deliberating whether or not Lisbeth could be trusted. After all, she was a total stranger. And Marty had learned in the worst way possible not to trust strangers. Finally, Marty agreed, grabbed a record, and headed to the front to pay for it.

* * *

Marty Stewart debated whether or not to go with this woman-name still unknown. She remembered the last, very terrible time she went with someone she didn't know and she at least knew _his _name! But then...women don't rape...right? Still, even if she wasn't a rapist, she could still easily be a murderer. She looked the part, what with her short, fuse-like hair, her tattoos and piercings, the baggy black clothing, the big black boots, and the unfriendly look on her face.

But, against her better judgment, not knowing why, she agreed and bought the latest Heaven Seventeen record, which she'd been eyeing for ten minute. The woman waited somewhat impatiently. When she finished, they walked out together, bag in one of Marty's hands, her cock-sicle in the other.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" asked Marty. "I hope it's somewhere public; I don't go anywhere private with strangers..." She trailed off, not wanting to discuss what happened three years ago, especially not with someone she didn't know.

"I know, and I know the reason, too," the woman said, surprising her once more.

_Holy shit,_ she thought. _This chick knows about three years ago. First my name, then the event...what the hell _else_ did she know?_

Marty wondered if she wanted to know the answer to that question.

Finally, the strange woman led Marty to a little cafe that was crowded and loud. It would be difficult for them to be overheard. They sat down across from each other and ordered their drinks, a Coke for Marty and coffee for the woman.

"Who the hell are you?" Marty asked.

"I prefer anonymity, for the sake of this conversation, you can refer to me as Sally."

"Why me?" demanded Marty. "I'm thirteen; what use could I be to you?"

Sally ignored her question to ask her own. "Do you know a man-currently eighteen years of age, but about fifteen when you met him, who goes by the name Alex DeLarge?"

Marty's eyes widened. Last time she heard that name was following its owner's suicide attempt. Oh, how Marty wished it weren't merely an _attempt, _that vile, wretched bastard.

"Y-yes, I know him," she stuttered. "Why?"

"I have reason to believe that he is up to no good. Not like before, though. Far worse."

Marty was intrigued. What could be way worse than taking two ten-year-old girls home, drugging them, and raping them for an hour?

"You know about Rosalie Curtis?" Lisbeth asked.

"The Minister's niece," Marty said, nodding. It was then at this time that the waitress came back with their drinks and took their meal orders-cheese sandwich for Marty, nothing for Sally. "The one who died a while ago?"

"I have this suspicion that Rosalie Curtis is, in fact, not dead," Sally said.

Again, the young girl's eyes widened. "Not dead? But didn't they find her clothes or something?"

"Her body was never found, was it? A dress isn't evidence of a death. He could have easily raped her, torn her dress, smeared it with her blood, and placed it where it could be easily found, to make her mother and everyone else think she was dead. I'm fairly certain he faked her death to throw the search team off his trail so he can breathe easy. He's still out there, raping and torturing the girl, and perhaps others, too."

"So you think he did it?" Marty asked. "A-Alex, I mean. You think he kidnapped her?"

"I know he did. Don't ask me how, it doesn't matter," she said, for Marty had opened her mouth to ask how Sally knew for certain.

"Why don't you go to the cops then? Tell them your suspicions?"

Sally's face darkened at this. "They won't believe me. The case was closed months ago. They think she's dead. Everyone thinks she's dead, including her mother. No, I need to stop him, end his reign of terror."

"What information do you need from me?" Marty asked warily.

"Where did you meet him?"

"Melodia. My friend Sonietta and I were looking at the pop records when he came along. We skipped school, and I sincerely wished we hadn't. He was so kind and charming to us, real sweet. I guess it was part of his charade." Her voice was bitter at the end. "He offered to take us home to listen to our pop records. We thought ourselves as real grownups, acting all flirtatious, wearing makeup and padded bras. We were not grown up, though, oh no. We were much too naïve and innocent despite our attire and wanting to think otherwise to fully understand the world. Sure, our parents told us not to talk to strangers, but they also told us not to skip school, that perfect attendance was important. He offered to take us out to eat first, as we were so damn hungry. He took us to a pasta place-how generous, right?" she asked sarcastically. "And after we rode in a taxi to his place. There we listened to our pop music and were given spiked drinks, as we were thirsty. And then he has us naked and on his bed. He put on Beethoven and undressed and the rest is fuckin' history. We were drunk during a lot of it, so we couldn't feel it for most of the hour. When we sobered, though, of course we were sore as hell, and bloodied, too. He took our innocence. He betrayed our trust. We were never the same after. Today was the first I'd set foot in Melodia in three years. I hadn't before because of the memories and because I was so fucking afraid I'd run into him again. I know he frequents that place often."

"Yes, and that Korova place," Lisbeth murmured.

"You know about that? Have you seen him there?"

"I have. He tried to force me home with him. I outran him."

Marty looked at the woman in awe. "I've never heard of anyone outrunning him," she said.

"I had a car nearby."

"So how are you going to stop him?" asked Marty.

Salander thought for the longest time. "I don't know. He's protected by the government,"

Marty scowled. "Of course he is," she grumbled.

"So I can't get him busted in some sort of crime," Sally continued, ignoring Marty's comment. "Maybe we should film him and upload the footage for everyone to see the fucker the Minister has been protecting for months now."

"How are you going to do that? Camera are expensive, and you'll have to be pretty damn skilled to be able to bug his room without his knowing."

"I'll find a way," Sally answered. By then, Marty's food was gone and the waitress came back with the bill. Lisbeth insisted on paying.

"I have to go. My mum will be worried," Marty said, and Lisbeth nodded. "I'll tell Sonietta about your plan, if that's alright with you. She should know. She was hurt too." Salander nodded curtly once more and then left.

* * *

She walked to the nearest electronics store and purchased the most accurate (and expensive) tiny camera. She had to find a way and a time to plant it in his home, and where. She wouldn't let herself be bait again like she did to get Bjurman. She had to do it when she knew he was away.


	18. The Escape

**Okay, so I'm kind of excited and sad that this fic is coming to and end because I've been working on this for maybe nine months, including some long breaks here and there at the beginning. **

**Just so you all know, pasties are not pies. Pasties are the things strippers sometimes put on their nipples at topless bars. _Pastries _are pies and stuff. Just putting that out there. **

**I own nothing canon, of course.**

**Happy 70th birthday, Malcolm! Dedicating this one to you.**

* * *

On the 8th of May, Alex DeLarge forgot to lock his front door, distracted by plans on how to expand his business even more. He would come to regret this decision very much, as it was an immense fuck-up with unintended consequences, none of which were good. For him.

Lisbeth Salander bought her camera and then went back to the hotel, where she set up the video on her computer and then grabbed her Taser, making sure it was fully charged, intending to use it. She knew what a violent bastard DeLarge was.

She had instructions to DeLarge's house, taken by hacking into his computer, naturally, and drove to his place. The plan was to knock on the door, and when he opened it, she would Taser him and then bug his room, or whichever room he kept the girl in, while he was on the ground. She had briefly considered simply taking the girl away. It would be easier, and after all, she could save the girl. But it was unlikely that someone would believe she was the same girl who'd been declared dead back in January. So sadly, the poor girl had to endure more suffering at the hands of this bastard, if only for a little while longer.

However, things didn't go exactly as planned.

When she got to the house, she went up and knocked. He would, for a second, be surprised that the woman he tried to take home to rape would show up at his doorstep. But before he could react, she'd Taser him and he'd be on the floor, allowing her to bug the room he did his rapes in.

However, no one answered. Looking around, she noticed that apart from her rental car, the driveway was empty. She turned and grabbed the doorknob. She expected, of course, the door to be locked. He couldn't risk letting his pet get away, now could he? But when she turned the knob, she found that it, indeed, opened.

Alex DeLarge had made a grave mistake.

She smiled her crooked smile to herself and opened the door further. No one was around. She walked in and closed the door behind her. As she walked through the sparsely decoratedhouse, she came across a basement and went closer to investigate. It was **e**xtraordinarily cold and dark. When she flipped on the light, she saw a table in the middle of the room, similar to the one she had been strapped into at St. Stefan's. And then she saw a mattress on the floor with no pillow and a flimsy blanket. She expected the girl to be kept there, but the room was clearly empty. Salander figured Alex may have moved her to another room, since the basement would have surely killed her due to hypothermia. She left the basement, turning off the lights to cover her tracks.

Rosalie was in Alex's bedroom, cleaning. She heard the door close and her heart stopped.

_He's home already?_ she thought. _He just left!_

She figured he must have forgotten something, so kept on cleaning as usual. Hopefully that was it. Some days he'd come home on lunch break early in a hornier and more sadistic mood than usual. And that was saying something.

But she didn't hear him call for her to ask her how her cleaning went. In fact, he didn't call for her at all, which made her suspicious. She knew she was risking a beating, but she didn't care. She stopped cleaning and stood up, walking out of Alex's room.

What she saw shocked her. It was a young woman, short and thin and who looked around the same age as Rose. Her clothes were dark, her exposed skin was pierced and tattooed, and her face was blank, expressionless. She hoped this woman wasn't one of Alex's clients making a home visit. She did slightly resemble that woman, Camilla. Rose modestly crossed her arms over her chest and putting a hand over her crotch.

"So, you're the Minister's niece," the woman said in a Swedish accent.

"How did you know it was me?" Rose asked in a raspy voice after a few seconds of stunned silence. She spoke very little when she was with Alex. The less you talked, the less you got yourself into trouble.

"Dyed hair? That's his idea of a disguise? Pathetic!" Salander scorned. Though, she had to admit the girl looked changed somehow. Not because of her hair colour and haircut, but because of her body. She was thin now, rail thin, anorexic thin. Her hair, nowshort and dyed black, was disheveled and uneven. Frankly, it looked to Lisbeth that it had been pulled out in clumps. Rose was sporting a black eye and her neck was covered in hickeys, presumably left by DeLarge. She was nude and Lisbeth could see the bruises on her legs and her thighs and she knew there must be more in between. The girl had bags under her eyes. She looked completely beaten down and thoroughly battered.

Rose smiled for the first time in months.

"Where's he keeping you?" Lisbeth demanded suddenly.

Rose's smile fell slightly. She was not in the least bit interested in talking about _him _with the person who could possibly rescue her.

"Why do you care?" she asked. She had so many questions-how did the woman get in? _Who_, exactly, was the woman? Was she an ally or an enemy? Would she help Rose or harm her? It was hard to know for sure anymore. Most people she knew these days were only interested in raping and beating her, aside from the other girls.

"Call me Sally," the woman told her, as if reading her mind. "I know a man by the name of Alex DeLarge has been keeping you here since January. I know he's been torturing and raping you for months with no reprieve. And I'm fairly certain he's hurting other women as well."

"But how did you get in here?" asked Rose. "The door was locked."

"Actually," Salander corrected, "it wasn't. I guess he forgot to lock the door today."

She paused to let her words sink in.

"The door isn't locked?" Rose repeated. She started to feel what she had never felt in months. _Hope. _She could get out of here, run away, run back home to her mother.

Lisbeth shook her head. "No, but you have to stay here for a while longer so I can get him on camera and expose him," she said and saw the girl's face fall.

"Stay here?" Rose repeated. "With...with _him?_" She couldn't stand the thought of having to stay here even one more day, even with the knowledge that soon this would be over.

"It's just one more day. I need to-" Salander started to say before she was cut off.

Rose started to tell her about the brothel, how it worked, how other girls were forced to whore themselves out for money, which _they _never saw. Lisbeth's face darkened.

"I knew he was keeping other girls somewhere," she said with an intent frown. "I didn't think he was keeping a prostitution ring."

"You have to get me out of here, please!" Rose said desperately. "I can't stay here much longer!"

"Look, I also need to save the other girls, get some evidence, and then release it. Once the public finds out that _this _is the type of person your uncle has been protecting-"

"What better way than to show me to the public? Show that the Minister's niece is alive after all?" Rose asked.

Lisbeth had a sense of _deja vu_. Just a few years previously, she helped Henrik Vanger uncover the secret of his niece, Harriet Vanger, someone who was believed to be dead almost four decades. That task seemed harder than to find Rosalie Curtis, who had been thought dead for five months. Except...would people believe that girl was, in fact, Rosalie Curtis. Of course, they could ask questions with answers only the real Rose could answer. But what about the other girls? They need to be out of there, and fast. And then an idea occurred to her...

"Rose, I will take you out of here and hide you in my hotel room for a few days. I will plant some cameras in the brothel you're talking about-you'll have to give me directions-and then release the video to the world," Lisbeth told the girl.

"Why can't you just show me to my uncle? Once we prove who I am, I can tell him about the sex trafficking," Rose suggested.

Lisbeth sighed. "Look, just let me do this my way, alright? I know what I'm doing," she said impatiently. "Now, you're going to need to put something on. I take it you don't have any other clothing?"

Rose shook her head, then realised something. "Wait! I _do _have a trench coat that I wear every night to the bordello." she said.

"Go get it, and hurry," Lisbeth said. "I'm going to assume he's at work and has a lunch break here soon and we don't need to be seen sneaking out of his house."

Rose nodded and ran to look for the coat. Alex kept in in his room so she wouldn't be tempted to wear it when she wasn't supposed to. She searched his room and finally found it hidden in his closet. She grabbed it and put it on. It felt weird and rough over her naked body. Normally, she'd have _some _form of clothing under the trench coat, even if it was strips of lace and fabric. Before she left his room, she searched and found the heels she always wore to the brothel. She wished for better shoes. But hell, she wished for a better _life. _She went back to meet Lisbeth.

Salander repressed a sigh when she saw that ten inch hooker heels Rose was donning. She didn't want to know what else he made her wear to his sex ring. Lisbeth led the teen to her rental car and told her to get in the back and lay down. Rose obeyed. On the way to the hotel, Lisbeth asked for directions to the brothel, which Rose gave gladly.

"Don't you need to write them down, though?" asked Rose curiously.

"No, I got them," Lisbeth answered, and her voice made it clear she didn't want Rose to press the issue.

She gave Rose her hotel key.

"Don't talk to anybody on your way in," Salander instructed. "And don't open the door to anybody except for me. I'll knock fourtimes."

Rose nodded her head and left the car. As soon as Rosalie disappeared into the hotel, Lisbeth pulled out of the driveway. First she'd have to buy more cameras. It would be expensive, but it was, after all, for the best. And then she'd have to plant the cameras discreetly in key areas. The questionwas, _where_? Prostitution wasn't illegal, though forced prostitution was, and she needed to show that they were being raped, that they weren't trying to make money by having consensual paid sex. And Salander would guess that they didn't even get paid at all. Not a penny. The bastard not only raped them and sold them out to get raped by other sadistic pigs, but he kept the fucking money, too.

* * *

She bought about twenty cameras, knowing she could come back if she needed more, and that she could sell the surplus if she needed fewer. For now, twenty was just fine.

She drove to the brothel in record time. At first glance, it looked like an average strip club-perfectly legal, if a bit sleazy. Of course, looking closer, she saw extremely sexual posters of girls ranging from ages seventeen (like Rose) to twenty-five in just panties and, in some cases, pasties in provocative poses advertising their "services," so to speak. And in fine print it stated to consult the proprietor of the bordello, Alex DeLarge, for the girls' costs. Lisbeth scowled.

She grabbed the door handle, but it was locked. So she looked around for three minutes until she found an abandoned bobby pin on the ground, which she used to pick the lock. Entering the whorehouse, she saw red velvet-lined walls and a stage with a few poles and, oddly enough, chains hanging from the ceiling with wrist-cuffs. She wasn't sure whether to bug the lobby, as they would be required to put on happy faces and act like they became whores of their own volition, that it was all _consensual. _That no one was being raped there. That the women were _actually _asking to be fucked. _As if._

She decided she'd come back to the lobbyon her way out, make her decision then. Her first goal was to head for the dressing rooms. Undoubtedly, where they got changed was where he'd rape them and humiliate them and there they'd cry and sob before putting on their facade of consent. The room was large and dark; she turned on the lights. She saw rows of mirrors and counters cluttered with makeup-extremely gaudy makeup, by the looks of it, too. There were racks of clothes fit for strippers and porn stars hanging on hangers. She looked around, searching for the perfect place to hide a miniature camera.

And then she saw the perfect place: on top of one of the mirrors.

She had to place it so that it wouldn't be spotted, and, though it wasn't an easy task, she managed it. Now, on to the other fourteen.

An hour later, she had put to use fifteen of the twenty cameras, including the first one strategically placed in the dressing room. She decided to disregard the lobby area. She would gather enough evidence that would suffice, she was sure. And as she left, she locked the doors of the brothel again.


	19. Gone

**Okay, again I'm excited for how this will turn out. I think I know how this will turn out. Then again, the way the story has gone has surprised me, so.**

**Anticipate the last chapter to be 21, which will be an epilogue chronicling the aftermath of the story.**

**Also, trigger warning: rape, mention of rape**

* * *

No one talked to Rose on her way to the hotel room. But they did notice her. Not _her, _like they'd notice the Minister's formerly dead niece, but they noticed a teenager wearing a long trench coat and ten inch prostitute heels, a teenager looking tired and beaten. But they didn't say anything. She slipped the key card into the hotel door knob and opened the door, slipping inside before anyone could notice. The room had one king-sized bed and a desk, which currently had an expensive-looking laptop on it. She didn't know what to do now, except to lock the door and remove her hooker heels, which were killing her. She sat on the bed and rubbed her feet, waiting for Sally to show up. She knew it'd be a while, so she turned on the television and started surfing the channels.

* * *

Two hours later, she heard four knocks and turned off the TV and opened the door. Salander walked in and closed the door behind her. She was carrying a Walmart bag, which she handed to Rose.

"What's this?" Rose asked.

"Clothes," Lisbeth replied. "I doubt you want to wear that coat for the entire time you're hidden in here. It could be days before you can leave. I did some guesswork on the sizes of your clothes and underwear. If doesn't fit, keep the tags on and maybe later I can go back out and replace them. I can't exactly take you to have you try on stuff."

Rose nodded and reached into the bag, pulling out a white blouse and black sport shorts ("I thought it better than ordinary pants; it gets hot in here," Lisbeth explained.) and a plain white bra and matching panties. Rose slipped the underwear on, which luckily fit, and pulled the tags off. The blouse and shorts fit and she pulled their tags off as well.

Lisbeth sat in the chair in front of the desk and set up the cameras on her computer. She wondered how long it would take for Alex to figure out his captive was missing.

* * *

Alex pulled into the driveway of his home. He was back for lunch break, which always lasted about an hour. Thirty minutes more than most, he knew. Thank Bog for government privilege. When he opened the door and called out for Rosalie, he expected to answer him, like the dobby malenky devotchka she had to be. When he asked loudly if the room was sparkly clean like he had instructed, he expected an answer along the lines of "Of course, Master. It's exactly the way you want it," and for her to be naked on his bed, legs spread, ready for Alexander the Large.

But that is not what he got.

All he got as an answer was silence.

_That fucking BITCH! _he thought furiously. _How _dare _she not answer me!_

But something was wrong. He knew that much, sensed it. He didn't have faith much in her intelligence, but surely she wasn't stupid enough to purposely ignore him.

He walked to his room, a feeling of dread washing over him. He didn't know what he expected to see-a dead Rosalie, insides on her outsides, brutally murdered; a dead Rosalie lying in a pool of blood, open wounds on her wrists, having committed suicide-but it wasn't what he ended up seeing.

She was...gone. Just like that. No blood, no dead body, not even an unconscious one. Just...gone. He almost thought that she was kidnapped again by someone else, but realised there was no sign of struggle. If someone came for her, she must have went willingly. And the thought infuriated him, made him see red.

_How could she LEAVE? HOW?! The door was locked!_

Or was it? He realised that the door wasn't locked at all; that didn't have to use his key to get in.

_God-fucking-dammit! _He thought angrily. _She's fucking gone, that fucking whore, and it's all MY fault! Oh, that stupid bitch is going to pay for leaving me. There's going to be hell to pay!_

He also discovered she'd taken that trench coat and a pair of ten-inch heels, and it didn't help his temper. At that moment, he was tense, very tense, and aware he needed a release in the forty-five minutes he had left. He left his house, making sure to lock it, and started his car back up, pulling out.

He drove to Chloe's apartment. Well, _his _apartment he was oh-so-generous to allow her to stay in. If it weren't for him, she'd be a homeless whore. And he couldn't have that, being the refined gentleman he was.

* * *

He shut off the engine, getting out and slamming the door and stormed into the complex building, climbing the stairs. When he reached her apartment, he banged on the door. When Chloe opened it, she suppressed a scream upon seeing the expression on his face. She let him in, closing the door behind her.

"Alex, what-" she started, before he cut her off.

"She left!" he growled. "Mallory fucking _left!_"

She looked surprised. "But how...?"

He glowered at her. "Don't look so fucking surprised, you cunt. Tell me you didn't have anything to do with this!"

Chloe looked alarmed. "Alex, I swear, I didn't-"

And then his fist collided with her nose with a sickening crunch. She was on the ground, blood streaming from her broken nose. And he was crouched right next to her, mouth at her ear.

"You know what to call me," he hissed dangerously.

"I didn't help her escape, Master," she whispered, eyes wide in fear.

He climbed on top of her and removed what little clothes she had on, a grey camisole with matching shorts. No underwear. When you were in a situation like Chloe's it was best to wear as little as possible. She didn't bother fighting him off. You couldn't fight him. The harder you fought, the worse he got, the more brutal he was when he got his way. She braced herself when she heard his pants unzip, felt him pulling them down to his ankles. He did this often when he was pissed, barge into her-_his_-apartment and rape her for no reason. Like he needed one. She was still frightened, though. He was wild with rage when she opened the door, his eyes crazed with fury. He was going to be especially rough today.

He positioned himself and then shoved himself inside her as hard as he could, making her scream and arch her back. He thrust in and out hard, digging his nails into her skin, drawing blood. He raped her for thirty minutes, the last five being extra hard in an effort to make himself come before he had to pull out. When he did, she was crying, and he licked her tears. He pulled his pants up and zipped and buttoned them. He smirked at her.

"Until tonight, love," he said before leaving her sobbing and wanting to die.

* * *

He was no less upset about what happened, but what could he do now? He had to return to work and then later tonight run the brothel. Maybe he could compensate by taking one of the other girls-not Chloe-home for the night in place of having Rosalie.

Tomorrow he would go look for her. Tomorrow he would take the day off and go look for her. And he would get her back, and she would wish she was fucking dead.

* * *

So far, nothing. Lisbeth frowned. Nothing had been happening; no one was at the brothel. But then again, Alex did have work. Besides, he might have been concerned about where his captive went. Surely he had found out by then.

Rose lay on the bed, watching some stupid English sitcom.

Lisbeth turned to her. "When exactly does he get off work and take you to the bordello?" she asked.

"He gets home from work for the day at six and then at seven he takes me to the brothel," Rose answered.

* * *

Two hours and five minutes later, things started happening. Five girls piled in the dressing room and started undressing. Rose came to watch next to Lisbeth and told her their names.

**_Chloe, half naked and in the process of putting on a pink and black corset, paused and looked around. "Where's Mallory?" she asked. She knew "Mallory" had left, but didn't know if the other girls already knew._**

"Mallory's my whore name," Rose explained to Lisbeth.

**"****_I don't know," Coco said slowly. She was naked except for a thong and some ten-inch heels._**

**"****_She's normally here, isn't she?" asked Angel, clad in white lingerie._**

**_Michelle rolled her eyes. "Who cares? She's probably sick. Maybe she's on the rag," she suggested._**

**"****_Doubt it," said Lavender. "Alex would make her come anyway, and laugh about her having to fuck some guy on her period, like we always have."_**

**"****_Sounds like him," agreed Chloe. "And then the john would get pissed when she bled all over him."_**

**"****_Pissing Alex off because that meant losing money," Michelle added._**

**"****_Giving him an excuse to have her raped even harder when she escapes the clutches of the Red Army," said Coco sympathetically._**

**_The girls had stopped getting ready as they had their conversation. But they were interrupted by Alex himself, who barged in looking none too thrilled._**

**"****_What are you ptitsas doing sitting around and govoreeting? You're supposed to be getting ready. My customers are going to be here any minoota and half of you don't even have make-up on," he said impatiently._**

**_Alex walked over and squeezed Coco's bare breast, earning himself a loud cry. He grinned in satisfaction._**

**"****_If you don't know already, one of your fellow sluts is missing. Don't worry; this won't be for too long. I'll have her back and you'll get to punish her as she deserves, that fucking bitch," he said, with a grin, knowing how little the other girls wanted to rape Rosalie/Mallory._**

Rose's stomach clenched. She was sure he'd do much worse thing to her, though, like rape or even murder. Hopefully, she wouldn't get caught and brought back.

_****_**_"But what this means is, sharps, we have one less whore to sell," he continued and sighed. "They're not going to be very happy. Well, they'll have to make do for this nochy. Two of you will have a threesome with one man, two man with another. And the last one gets to spend the nochy with me."_**

**_The girls gave each other frightened looks._**

**_After that, they got into their outfits and makeup and went to the lobby._**

"What do they do in the lobby?" Salander demanded. "Besides show off for the johns."

"Well, Alex goes over our prices. I suppose tonight Alex will explain about being one whore short-he'll make an excuse for me, of course. And then the johns will pick someone and he'll have us go back to the dressing room and get ready while he goes over prices and positions and rooms. There's a room for everything-bondage, wax , blood play, fire play, or just plain vanilla sex. Or, well, _rape_, actually," Rose explained.

And soon enough, the girls came back into the dressing room.

**"****_Jesus fucking Christ, I _****hate ****_him," Angel growled, sitting down in a chair. She scowled. "That fucking bastard Martin."_**

**"****_I hope he decides not to pick me this time," said Chloe nervously._**

**"****_And that he picks two of us?" Lavender demanded, rounding on Chloe. "Do you want us two to be raped instead of you?"_**

**_Chloe's eyes widened. "N-no, of course not! That's not what I meant. I don't want anyone of you guys getting raped by _****anybody. ****_You know that..."_**

**_Lavender looked as if she was going to say something extremely bitchy when Alex walked in._**

**"****_Alright," he said, and the girls looked at him, apprehension on their faces. "Lavender, you and Chloe go with Mr. Martin to the room with the king-sized bed. Coco and Angel, you go with Mr. Kelley to the whipping room. And of course, that leaves you, Michelle, with me." He grinned at them. "The men will tell you what you are to do to them and what they paid to do to you. You know the drill. Smile, look as if you fucking want this. If he doesn't come, that means trouble."_**

**_The girls nodded and went off to their respective rooms._**

And then Salander switched the video feed to the other rooms. And for six hours, she watched, her scowl ever deepening, as the five girls were raped and beaten and abused and forced to smile through it all. She stopped when they all climbed out of bed, blood dripping from between their legs and silent tears dripping from their eyes, putting on a fake smile and thanking their rapists.

* * *

Rose spent the last few hours trying not to pay attention to the grunts of her fellow prostitutes' rapists and their occasional cries of pain, which they masked by faking moans, by watching sitcoms, to no avail.

"I'm releasing the videos online tomorrow," Salander said.

"Wait, you're making them public? But that's going to humiliate them! Can't we find some other way?" Rose protested.

"I'm not asking your permission," Lisbeth said sharply. "You may not want them to be humiliated, but isn't that better than them being raped? If we give the videos to the government, the most that they'll do is promise to have him caught, which they won't do. He needs to be taken down. And he's going to go after other pretty young relatives of government officials because he figures if he can get away with kidnapping and raping the Minister's niece, what else can he get away with? We talked about this. Right now, getting him caught and getting him off the streets is what's important. Besides, they're already being humiliated; you've told me that, haven't you? But if it bothers you that much, we can blur out the girls' faces."

Rose kept quiet. It was true; they had agreed on this. She just didn't want to drag the girls down.

* * *

Lisbeth spent the next hour downloading and copying the videos, making sure to blur out certain faces and after that was done, she sent copies to every news programme in the UK with a message that read:

Look who the government has been protecting

In the morning, she knew, there would be a huge scandal. For that night, she shut her laptop off and climbed into bed.


	20. Everybody's Fool

**Second to last chapter. I own nothing. Thanks to my beta, demonbarber14. Also the testify part was longer, but I cut a lot of it out because it'll take too long and it gets tedious to write.**

* * *

_Perfect by nature_

_Icons of self indulgence_

_Just what we all need_

_More lies about a world that_

_Never was and never will be_

_Have you no shame?_

_Don't you see me?_

_You know you've got everybody fooled_

_Look, here he comes now_

_Bow down and stare in wonder_

_Oh, how we love you_

_No flaws when you're pretending_

_But now I know he_

_Never was and never will be_

_You don't know how you've betrayed me_

_And somehow you've got everybody fooled_

_Without the mask_

_Where will you hide?_

_I can't find yourself_

_Lost in your lie_

_I know the truth now_

_I know who you are_

_And I don't love you anymore_

_**~Everybody's Fool by Evanescence**_

Alex woke up naked. He grinned to himself as he remembered taking Michelle to his house and raping her repeatedly as she begged him to stop. He had sent her home right before he fell asleep and watched her walk home, barely clothed and crying.

And then he remembered what he had to do. He swore and got out of bed, before hurriedlygetting dressed. He dialed the number for his boss.

"Hello, Roger Newman's office, how may I be of service?" answered Newman's very pretty secretary, Alana Bloom. Alex smirked. He had fucked her once or twice.

"This is Alex Burgess," he replied. "Tell Mr. Newman I can't come in to work today. I've got...some business to attend to."

The woman paused. "Well," she said at last, "that's certainly true."

"What the bloody hell does that mean, Alana?" he demanded.

Alana sighed in exasperation. "Christ, Alex, have you not seen the news today?" she asked sharply.

"No, I just woke up," Alex snapped. He ran his fingers through his hair. _What was the dumb bitch on about?_ he wondered.

"A warrant's out for your arrest, Alex!" she cried shrilly, forcing him to hold the phone from his ear. "Someone leaked several videos of you and, well, they're kind of incriminating."

Alex froze in horror. A warrant? For _his _arrest? But why? "I thought I was protected," he said stiffly.

"Not anymore," she said.

He swore. "What kind of videos?" he asked slowly.

"They were of you in some sort of brothel-type place. There were seven videos. In one of them you were molesting a girl. In another, you were whoring them out. In another, you were raping a girl. There were two videos where men were raping two girls. It's...it's pretty graphic. Alex, are you really running a prostitution ring?" she asked, upset.

He didn't answer. He threw the phone across the room and it shattered in pieces. Everything was _ruined. _Goodbye, privilege. Goodbye, freedom. And it was only a matter of time until Rosalie Curtis would reveal herself to be alive and that he had kidnapped her.

He stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. If he found that fucking whore, he'd fuck her one last time and then murder her. She doesn't deserve to live; she doesn't deserve happiness.

He didn't get too far before he was apprehended and arrested by the police.

* * *

Lisbeth ordered room service for them both because, as she put it, it wasn't safe for Rose to leave the hotel room until Alex was arrested.

"And that's also when you will be revealed. There will be some doubters at first, but you'll prove them wrong," she explained.

It was all over the news. Sensational stories with headlines like _Government's big secret_ and _The truth is out: has the minister been protecting a rapist?_dominated newspaper pages. It was turning into a scandal.

* * *

And then the Minister was sacked. In his resignation speech, he cited this moment along with the moment his niece was declared dead as one of the worst moments of his life. He said he felt ashamed and "if he had known what this bastard was up to, he [the Minister] would pull the plug immediately." But Rose knew that was a lie, half of it at least. The Minister knew he hadn't changed; Uncle Fred had turned a blind eye to Alex's sins. Though, she wondered what he had done if he knew Alex had kidnapped his niece...

Soon after, it was announced Alex was arrested. Rose told Lisbeth she wanted to be revealed in her own way. She wanted to see her mother.

It had been so long. Five months. Five months without seeing her mother. Her mother, who believed her to be dead.

Luckily, Lisbeth actually agreed. She asked where her mom lived and drove her there.

"She won't believe you at first," Lisbeth told her. "You know that, don't you? She'll think it's some kind of sick joke, come to remind her of her daughter's death."

"I know," said Rose. "I'll prove it to her, though."

"I think our time together is almost complete. He's been arrested and so it's safe for you to be out and about now," Lisbeth said as Rose was opening her door.

"Yep," Rose replied. "Thank you, Sally, for everything."

"Don't mention it," Lisbeth mumbled.

Rose walked in the building, heading for the lift and punching in her floor number. She was so excited she could hardly stand to wait as it lifted her to her floor. She ran out and didn't slow down until to rooms before her apartment. When she reached the door, she stopped and hesitated.

What could she say in the event her own mother wouldn't recognise her, an event that was, quite frankly, more than likely. After all, she was declared dead five months ago and Rose currently had short, jet-black hair. What was her mother supposed to think?

She knocked on the door. When she saw her mother, she gasped. The last time she saw her, all those months ago, she had long, blonde hair. Now it was cut in a bob.

"May I help you?" Anne asked, as if the young girl in front of her was a stranger. She smiled politely.

Her mother, naturally, didn't recognise her. Still, it sort of hurt.

"Mom," Rose said. "It's me, Rose."

Anne's smile fell rather quickly. What was this girl playing at? "My daughter's dead," she said slowly. In the last few months, she kind of healed, but it still hurt to remember that dreadful day back in January. "She died five months ago."

"No, she didn't," Rose replied calmly. "I know she didn't. I'm her, Rosalie Curtis."

"You think it's funny, don't you?" Anne hissed. "This is some kind of sick, cruel prank, isn't it? I swear, you kids get meaner and meaner each generation."

"No, I swear I'm your daughter!" Rose insisted. "I'm not trying to trick you. Here, let me prove it to you."

Anne lifted an eyebrow but let the girl in, closing the door behind them both. "Fine," she relented. "I'm going to ask you a question. The answer is something you should know, if you are my daughter. And only you."

Rose nodded.

"What time and date did Stephen, abandon us?" Anne demanded.

"14 February, 1:15 AM is when he officially left," Rose answered. "I can maybe tell you bits and pieces of the conversation before that, but I'm afraid I can't quote it verbatim."

And then her mother's arms were around her daughter's neck. She wasn't dead! Her daughter was alive!

When she finally pulled away, Rose could see the wide grin on her face and the tears streaming down her mother's overjoyed face.

"All this time...," Anne whispered. "All this time I thought you were dead. Can you imagine how it felt? Well, it was awful, but no matter. You're _alive._"

And then Anne noticed how emaciated her daughter was. She looked as if she may have had something to eat only recently and it was evident she suffered months of abuse from the bruises all over her body.

"Where have you been?" she breathed. "Who took you, and how did you escape?"

Rose sat on the couch and her mother followed suit. "It's a long story," she said slowly. "Do you want to hear it now, or can we wait until after we tell everyone? Because everyone needs to know I'm alive and have been."

"Please tell me," begged Anne. "At least the first half."

And so she did. From the very beginning, with her first encounter with Alex, how he took her home and raped her, how later he kidnapped her at the Minister's speech, and finally,how he kept her in a cold basement until she caught hypothermia.

"Mom, I need you to take me to the government office. They need to know I'm alive," Rose said.

Anne nodded. On the way, Anne informed Rose of Fred's sacking.

"I know," she replied. "I saw it on the news."

* * *

They arrived at the building and parked toward the back. It was busy as of late. They walked in and asked directions as to where they could take a DNA test.

The secretary raised her eyebrows. "A DNA test? What for?" the woman asked.

"This is my long lost daughter, Rosalie Curtis. I would announce her presence to the news, but we need proof, don't we?" Anne said, turning to her daughter.

"How are you so sure she _is _your daughter, Miss Curtis? After all, she doesn't even have blonde hair," the woman said.

"She proved it," replied Anne with a smile. "Now we need to prove it to the world."

So the woman gave directions, warning them that DNA tests weren't exactly cheap. Neither cared.

The test took about an hour and a half, and they waited two more hours for the results to come back. Finally, after three and a half hours, Rosalie's identity was confirmed. She was, in fact, alive.

* * *

Within hours, news spread. Internet articles began cropping up.

_**Former Minister's niece found alive**_

_**Sources claim she was kidnapped in January by the infamous Alex Burgess, 18, who had recently been arrested on many charges, including rape, forced prostitution, sexual harassment, sexual assault, pimping, slavery, human trafficking, and sodomy. Rosalie Curtis, 17, told press she met him at the Korova Milk Bar in January and he took her home and raped her. He didn't kidnap her that night. A few days later, he molested her during the former Minister's speech. After it was over, he kidnapped her and there she stayed for the next five months until last night, when she was rescued by an anonymous person, who was also responsible for the leak of the tapes. Curtis goes on to say that had she not been rescued that day, you would have seen her in those tapes as well. She claims to have been a part of that prostitution ring.**_

_**In light of these new claims, Burgess has been charged with more felonies: kidnapping, rape, sexual assault, sodomy, assault, battery, false imprisonment, wounding with intent, theft (he stole her dress she was wearing the day of the speech), torture, destruction of property (ripping the dress and coating it in Curtis's blood), psychological torture, forced prostitution, slavery, and human trafficking.**_

_**In addition, Martin Owens, 35, and Brandon Kelley, 28, have been arrested for their participation in the rapes of the women in the videos as well. They have been charged with rape and soliciting sex from forced prostitutes.**_

* * *

**10 May 2007**

Alex was given a newspaper to read in his cell. It was about him and that cunt, Rosalie Curtis. She blabbed to the police about his sex crimes against her. He needed to get out of there. He couldn't be in jail again. This time he won't have a chance in hell of getting out again. He needed to find some way to break out. He couldn't hope that there would be some technicality at the trial allowing him.

The trial was to be in two days. The judge in charge of his case wanted it to be pushed back a month, but the public wanted Alex in prison. Hell, they wanted the government to reinstate the death penalty just for him. His lawyer told him the best he could hope for was twenty years. But he knew he would likely get several life sentences. Even his own lawyer had looked distastefully at Alex, like he wanted to put him away for life. Alex hoped the bastard would at least _try _to get him a lighter sentence.

**12 May 2007**

The day of the trial. Everyone was nervous and excited and the media was abuzz. Rosalie Curtis was to testify, and she had managed to contact Chloe and Michelle to testify. Alex was in his best suit in police custody, waiting. Everyone was on edge, especially the judge. Judge Eric White felt certain pressure. He couldn't sentence Alex Burgess to death. He couldn't let Alex off too easy, either. It wasn't right and he would be asking for a major controversy.

Rose had wanted to dye her hair back to blonde, but her mother advised her she'd better wait until the trial was over and Alex had been sentenced. She would most definitely be called to testify and they might use some of the posters from the whorehouse.

* * *

She dressed appropriately and waited until fifteen till before she and her mother met her lawyer at the courthouse. She was thirty-five and had been a lawyer specialising in women's rights cases for over ten years. Her name was Sylvia Anderson.

"Now they are going to ask you questions, Miss Curtis," Miss Anderson said. "Some of them very specific, but hopefully they won't be explicit. I want you to answer as honestly as you can."

Rose nodded. Of course she would answer honestly.

"They may even ask how he raped you, what exactly he did to you. Can you handle that?"

"Yes," Rose answered.

"And it will take a while," Anderson continued. "If it gets to be too much-I understand you _must _be traumatised by the experience-you just say so. But you do need to talk as much as you can. It helps a lot. Not that I think he won't get a heavy case either way, but if he gets sentenced for crimes against you _and _the crimes shown in the videos, he'll never get out. Never."

"Okay," replied Rose.

And then they head inside the courtroom. First they called Chloe to the stand. There, she revealed her real name to be Alice Taylor. She talked about how she lived in an apartment owned by Alex and how he'd sometimes break in and rape her and about having been prostituted since the age of five and how she came to be one of Alex's whores. Then they called Michelle, who was called Stella Wilsonbefore she was forced to whore herself out.

All the while as the case went on, Rose could feel _his _eyes on her, leering at her and mouthing horrible words and phrases. It made her really uncomfortable.

And then she was called up. She walked up to the stand, feeling _his _eyes on her ass and she could _tell _he was making subtle obscene gestures behind her back.

She was asked to place a hand on a Bible.

"Miss Curtis," the foreman started, "would you raise your right hand, please." It was not a question. She did as she was told.

"You do solemnly swear that the evidence you shall give in this matter now pending before the grand jury of the County of Elstree shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" he continued.

"Yes sir," she said.

She was told to sit, and she did.

"State your full name and speak directly into the microphone so everyone can hear you, please," he instructed.

Rose leaned forward. "Rosalie Mary Curtis," she said into the microphone.

Mr. Campbell, Alex's lawyer, stood up and walked away from the desk.

"Rosalie Curtis, how old are you?" he asked.

"Seventeen," she answered.

"You reside with your mother at a residence in the Spring Lakes apartment complex?"

"Yes."

"On the 9th of January, 2007, did you meet Alexander Burgess?"

"Yes, I did."

"Where did you meet him?"

"At that milkbar place, the Korova."

"Looking at this exhibit no. 1-" And then Campbell held up a picture of Alex, in what appeared to be a mugshot. He was smirking that stupid smirk as always. "-do you recognise the person depicted in that photograph."

"Yes, that's Alex DeLarge-I mean, Burgess."

"Did he say anything to you to indicate he wanted to take you home with him?"

"No, he didn't. He offered to walk me to my home because it was late and there were a lot of bad people out at that time of night."

"May I ask, what _were _you doing out so late? Surely your mother must have been worried," Anderson observed.

Rose nodded. "I was supposed to meet my friends at a certain time. I can't remember what time. But they ditched me," she answered calmly.

"I have to ask, and this is for court purposes only, what were you wearing that night?"

"I can't remember exactly, but I think I was wearing a purple sweater, underneath that a blue sweater, and blue jeans."

"And who was there first? I mean, who was in the bar first, you or him?"

"I was."

"When did he enter?"

"Probably about ten or fifteen minutes after I realised they would never show."

"And did he approach you, or did you approach him?"

"He came up to me."

"What did he say?"

"He greeted me using that god-awful slang he always used. He said hi three times and called me lovely."

"Did you find it flattering, him calling you lovely?"

"Yes, I did," Rose admitted. "At the time. He told me he noticed I was all by myself and he asked why and I told him."

"And what did he say in response?"

"He told me a pretty girl like myself oughtn't be alone at this time of night."

"Did you know he had quite a reputation as a gang leader and a murderer?"

"Yes, and my mother warned me about him, said he drugged and raped two ten-year-old girls, but I didn't believe her. I thought it was gossip, honestly. And I heard about the Ludovico treatment, that after he was released from the hospital following his suicide attempt he had decided to be a good citizen of his own volition."

"Did you talk a while?"

"Yes. About life and things like having just moved here. And then he said he wanted to walk me home."

"What did he say to indicate he wanted to walk you home?"

"He just reminded me of how dangerous this town was and that he needs to take me home."

"Did you say yes?"

"Yes, but I did hesitate at first."

"When did you start noticing something was off?"

"When we passed my apartment complex."

"The one where you currently live with your mother?"

"Yes."

"Did he touch you, before you left?"

"He rubbed my leg."

"Did he touch you as he walked with you?"

"He held onto me protectively."

"And when he passed your apartment complex, did you start being scared, or just felt something was off?"

"I started thinking something was wrong."

"Did you say anything?"

"I told him he passed my apartment."

"Did he respond? If so, how did he respond?"

"No, he just ignored me."

"When did you start getting nervous?"

"I already was, but I started getting scared when he brought me to his apartment complex. Before that, I asked where he was taking me and that my mother would be worried if I wasn't home in time. He didn't respond."

"What did you do when he brought you inside his complex?"

"I started to pull away from him."

"Did you say anything when you started to struggle?"

"I said I had to get home."

"What did he say to that?"

"He didn't. His told on me tightened."

"And was that when you realised you were in real danger?"

"Yes."

"Did you continue to struggle?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what did he do?"

"He looked at me menacingly and told me he would use brute force if I didn't behave."

"And then what?"

"He took me to his parents' apartment-he still lived with them then-and locked the door behind us and took me to his room, which he locked too."

"And did you put up any more of a fuss?"

"Yes, I kicked and screamed and distanced myself from him."

"Was it effective?"

"No, not at all. He told me his parents had recently taken sleep pills and couldn't be woken up."

"Did he say anything else?"

Rose swallowed. "He told me...he told me he'd fuck me either way. You know, if I screamed or if I didn't."

"And then what?"

* * *

And so it went on. She talked about being raped for eight hours, being raped at the speech three days later, and being kidnapped. She detailed her living conditions, her bout of hypothermia, how her conditions only slightly lessened, her one escape attempt, every single time he raped her, how he decided to whore her out, the first night, the instant success of his sex ring, the brothel, talking to the girls, how a woman-she wouldn't name names; she felt she owed the woman for saving her and anyway, she deserved privacy-took her to the woman's hotel room and gave her clothes after bugging the brothel and how Rose begged the woman to blur out the girls' faces for privacy's sake. She told about seeing her mother and having to prove she was the real Rose and then going to take a DNA test.

"No further questions, Your Honour," Campbell said, addressing the judge.

The judge ruled out a twenty minute recess for the jury to go over evidence and testimonies.

* * *

"How are you?" Anderson asked her client.

"Fine," Rose said. "For someone who'd been kidnapped and raped and then later had to testify in detail what her rapist did while he was in the room leering at her."

"If it's any consolation," Anderson said, "he's not going to get a light sentence. It's almost guaranteed he's going to be behind bars for life."

* * *

Rose excused herself to go to the bathroom. After she washed her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was going to need a shit ton of therapy. It's a good thing her family was rich, even if her uncle was sacked.

It was then she realised she wasn't alone.

"Hello?" she asked before she realised who it was: Alex.

She backed away in horror and was about to run from the room when he pounced, knocking her to the floor. She thought he was going to rape her again, but he wrapped his hands around her throat and started choking her. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong.

"You fucking bitch!" he growled. "You ruined _everything!_"

She started to see black dots, so she started to give up the fight. She was losing, she knew it. She was going to die...

And then the door opened. Salander's black boot came flying in Alex's surprised and alarmed face. He fell over and his head hit the bathroom stall, knocking him out. Rose gasped and sat up, rubbing her neck. She looked over and saw Salander, glaring at Alex's unconscious body.

"Why are you here?" Rose blurted out.

"I saved your life. Again. You could be a little more grateful," Salander responded dryly.

"Of course I am," said Rose. "Thank you. But what brings you here?"

"I wanted to make sure the bastard got the sentence he deserves. I was passing the bathroom when I heard struggling. And then I came in to find him trying to murder you. How he got away I have no clue."

They walk out and Rose thanked her once more.

"I'll tell the police what happened," Salander said. "You go to your lawyer. I'm sure she's worried. It's five minutes until the remainder of the trial."

And so Rose returned and told Anderson about the attempted murder.


	21. Epilogue

**To quote The Doors: This is the end, my beautiful friend. I gotta admit, I'm kind of relieved it's done. It's been so long. Anyway, as usual, I own nothing canon. And thank you to my beta, demonbarber14. **

**News: **

**I'm participating in Camp NaNoWriMo, which stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's from July 1st to the 31st. **

**My next fanfic is called ****_Polly_****. It's in verse, like those novels by Ellen Hopkins and Sonya Sones. It will be about a girl who was raped by Alex but managed to get away. It's based off of Nirvana's "Polly." However, I'm going to be busy with my novel for Camp NaNoWriMo. It might not be out until the end of the month. Maybe.**

* * *

Alexander "DeLarge" Burgess was given twenty life sentences for his sex crimes. In addition, he also got an extra ten for attempted murder.

Rosalie Curtis got therapy for her trauma. She still had PTSD and it got bad at times. Her mother, Anne, was always kind and encouraging and ready to listen if Rose needed to talk, but she didn't press matters. Fred was genuinely sorry for allowing Alex free reign for so long.

The johns were given sentences, but theirs were fifty years.

A year later, Rosalie moved out. In fact, she moved to London. She couldn't stand it in Elstree anymore, not with all the shitty memories plaguing her.

Chloe committed suicide just before Rose moved away. She couldn't handle it. Rose attended her funeral.

As for the other girls, Rose lost contact with all of them.

In 2018, at the age of twenty-eight, Rosalie met a man. His name was Colin Everett and he was thirty. They had an instant connection. But physical affection was a problem. Even after eleven years she couldn't get past kissing without having bad panic attack-inducing flashbacks. The previous men she dated were impatient. They didn't care she had been raped and tormented. They just wanted to get laid. But Colin was sweet and patient. He understood everything. He didn't care if they never made love or even kissed. But eventually, with help from her therapist and Colin, flashbacks soon were rare. And she could kiss him all she wanted. It took a little bit longer further they went. Making love was hardest. He'd be inside her and it'd feel so fucking good, but then she'd suddenly remember _him _on top of her and burst out into sobs, making Colin stop immediately. Instead of getting pissed off, he'd reassure her Alex could never, ever hurt her again and that Colin would never hurt her. Eventually she conquered sex too. After two years together, they married and had kids. Rose still had really bad days, but they were rare.

As for Alex? He stayed in prison for life.


End file.
